The Crimson Prince
by Orangejolius
Summary: Obsession drives people to do crazy things; even making a deal with the devil. Kyle only has himself to blame, really, enticing Craig the way he has, and for so long.
1. Chapter 1

**Tell me when will you be mine?**  
 **Tell me quando, quando, quando**  
 **We can share a love divine**  
 **Please don't make me wait again**

 **When will you say yes to me**  
 **Tell me quando,quando, quando**  
 **You mean happiness to me**  
 **Oh my lover tell me when**

 **Every moment's a day**  
 **Every day seems a lifetime**  
 **Let me show you the way**  
 **To a joy beyond compare**

 **-Quando, Quando, Quando, Alberto Testa/ Ervin Drake/Tony Renis**

* * *

How does desire warp a person? When does love lapse into obsession, the need to possess another completely?

To what lengths is someone willing to have a person entirely?

Craig supposed he was on his way to finding out; a niggling need having wormed its way into his heart years ago. It had taken up residence and refused to leave, and he had come to accept it over time; why not test the limits of its possibilities?

He walked into the office and ignored its opulence, its overbearing need to prove something. Why should he be impressed? Isn't this what he should expect? Dim lighting and a huge cherry desk sitting in the middle of a sea of scarlet carpet; sconces lining the walls covered over with pearl and carmine stones? Glancing around he could see that the room was almost at the top of the world, raised up and overlooking the city; tiny people scurrying like insects down below and not even aware they were being watched. He smirked. So many people unaware that they were constantly being observed, much like the object of his desire.

Floor to ceiling windows created a dramatic picture of the city's skyline, and the stars had been pushed back into the darkness. The stars always seemed to disappear when he entered this room, especially when he finally came face to face with him; knowing eyes appraising him and almost dismissing Craig all at once. No matter; he was just a means to an end. Wasn't everyone, really?

"You've come back," a musical voice spoke into the silence. It was filled with jagged teeth and dark promises, red blood and misery; how could it be so beautiful, too? "That must mean you've made a decision."

Craig came forward, not feeling any of the fear he probably should in a situation like this. He'd never been one for fear or excessive emotion, not really. That's why his preoccupation with the object of his desire was so frustrating; it arrested him, overtook him, and try as he might he couldn't shake it. It stayed with him like the skin stretched over his bones, like the grey eyes in his skull that looked out at the world and regarded it with deep contempt. This person was in his blood, swimming there like a poison and filling him with a need that strayed outside of himself; completely foreign and contrary to his fundamental makeup.

"I suppose I have," he replied, monotone voice in sharp contrast with his counterpart's. He didn't continue, opting instead to stare at the dark haired gentleman in repose behind the massive desk.

"You need to be sure," the arresting voice replied, slightly amused. Craig had always been a human of few words, a fact he rather admired. If only all mortals could be so possessed of brevity; truly, it was a beautiful quality. "If you aren't, this won't work." He shrugged, fiddling with a glass of what could very possibly be wine, though in the muted lighting it could very well be a goblet of gore. Who knew? "Not that it makes a difference to me either way, of course; so long as I get my pound of flesh."

"That's all I want too," Craig replied, his hand clenching into a fist inside of his pocket. That's all he had ever wanted; the redhead for his own but always just outside of his grasp. He could taste that porcelain skin, see the green stitched through the irises that reminded him of forests and sea water in remote parts of the world; crazy, romantic fantasies that just weren't him. Moisture collected in his mouth at the prospect of sliding his hands over such delicacy, almost making him feel weak, and he was never weak.

Damien smiled because he could feel the shift in the air, could smell the arousal emanating from the thin, handsome man standing before him. He could also sense his desperation, his need, his obsession, and it thrilled him to no end. Yes, this was going to be fun, and even if Craig didn't understand all of the ramifications of his decision, Damien certainly did, and it filled him with such potent excitement he could barely stand it.

"Well, then," he said, standing up and coming around the desk. "We can negotiate then, can't we?" Damien peered at Craig again, studying him. "He must be very important to you, this focus of your attention." He thought a moment, pretending to ruminate even though he already knew the answer. The name was written on every wall in Craig's mind, emblazoned in searing red like crushed pomegranates. "What was his name again?"

Craig drew back, almost like he was unwilling to relinquish this bit of information; keeping it greedily to his breast and pressed into the tissues of his heart. Giving a name was giving a piece away, but he supposed it couldn't be helped.

"Kyle," he whispered, and the name was like the richest chocolate dripping over his tongue; pure and sweet, but oh so dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**I went to your house**  
 **Walked up the stairs**  
 **Opened the door without ringing the bell**  
 **Walked down the hall**  
 **Into your room where I could smell you**

 **And I shouldn't be here**  
 **Without permission**  
 **Shouldn't be here**

 **Would you forgive me love if I danced in your shower?**  
 **Would you forgive me love if I laid in your bed?**  
 **Would you forgive me love if I stay all afternoon?**

 **-Alanis Morissette, Your House**

* * *

Kyle always woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of piano music. It had been that way for the last two years, and it provided a very pleasant backdrop to his morning routine. A routine that never varied so long as he could help it; he was a hopeless creature of habit.

He was not a morning person, never had been, so the sound of his alarm going off always filled him with irritation. He would snooze it a few times, finally shut it off, and then linger for a few precious moments in bed, always afraid that he would accidentally fall back asleep and be late for work; so far, that had not occurred. When he finally plucked up the fortitude to rise and meet the day, he would draw back the covers, swing his legs over the side of the bed, and then press his feet to the floor. No matter the season, the floorboards always seemed to be chilly.

As the sounds of music and the aroma of coffee wafted through the apartment and filled up his room, he would go about dragging himself to the bathroom where he would quickly shed his clothes and then stand shivering while waiting for the water to warm up. No matter how many times he chastised himself he could never remember to start the water first; no doubt a byproduct of his sleepy state of mind.

After the steam started pouring from the shower and collecting on the mirror, Kyle would climb under the water and sigh for a moment, relishing this solitary part of his day; a moment where he could be still for a moment and become lost in his thoughts. Eventually he would come around and begin to wash; first his hair, then his left arm, his right, and so forth. He never deviated from this pattern; Kyle did not like change unless it was absolutely necessary, and then he positively loathed it.

Once he was able to pull himself from the shower, Kyle would proceed to brush his teeth and fuss with his wild tangle of red curls, usually resulting in giving up in frustration; that had always been a losing battle. He would splash two dots of cologne, one behind each ear, and then he would debate whether he needed to shave. Usually he really didn't need to; he was akin to a sheep that was naturally bare, having never been gifted with profuse amounts of facial hair.

After his simple toilet was complete, he would proceed into his bedroom where his clothes had already been chosen the night before: slacks and a button up dress shirt, always pressed and meticulously laid out. Kyle would dress and pull on a pair of dark dress socks and his slippers, glad to have the coldness of the floor away from his skin. He would take one last look in the mirror, tilt his head just so and continue to hate his hair, and then grab his things: wallet, phone, keys. The wallet would be slipped into his back pocket, his phone in the opposite back pocket, but his keys would remain in his hand.

Only then would he feel fit to leave the confines of his room, where the early morning sunshine would be sifting through the slats in the venetian blinds and falling in graceful streaks across the floor. On cloudy, murky mornings his room resembled an underwater grotto; the walls mottled with swirls of grey and dusky blue. Passing down the hallway the piano music would swell as he drew closer, and the sound always filled him with a joy he couldn't put his finger on; an inexplicable calmness that eased him into his day.

This morning it was Chopin and he couldn't help but smile. His nocturnes always put him at ease, and the music washed over him in waves of smooth chords that sunk into his skin and settled in his heart; lining it with comfort. The music almost felt as warm as the coffee waiting in the pot, its dark, rich flavor surrounding him and drawing him in. Kyle would fix his cup, taking care to use his favorite mug (yellow with a small chip in the rim; an old souvenir from a long ago family trip he could barely remember) and would always add the same garnishes: caramel almond milk and two Splenda. He would lean against the counter and watch the milk cloud in his coffee and turn it a creamy brown and he would sigh; another day had officially begun.

Taking his coffee, he would walk into the living room where the music was the loudest, and the golden white sunlight would pour over the hair and shoulders of the person creating the melody that seeped into Kyle's blood and drew him in like a siren call. He would stop playing for a moment and lean back to regard Kyle, and then the same smirk would cross his face as it did every morning. And then, always the same greeting:

"Morning."

No 'good, just 'morning,' and while there was a smile on his roommate's face, his voice was always flat. Kyle didn't mind though; he'd gotten used to that monotone voice ages ago. If anything, he was fond of it at this point.

"How did you sleep?" Kyle asked, leaning back against the couch and tucking his socked feet under himself. He blew on his coffee and took a timid sip, grimacing a little. No matter how careful he was, he always burned his tongue.

"Fine." There was a flurry of elegant, pale hands and then the music crescendoed making Kyle's heart pound a little faster.

"Hmm," he replied, taking another, smaller, sip. "You work tonight, right?"

"Yep."

"Will that give you enough time to visit the cemetery this afternoon? I know you planned on going today."

The music slowed to a crawl and almost became a faint whisper.

"I think so."

"Well, don't forget to take an umbrella," Kyle murmured, taking another drink; cinnamon-flavored coffee flowing across his tongue. He swallowed and looked out the windows, at the innocent morning sun that would soon be torn apart by rain clouds. "There's rain in the forecast."

"Thanks, dad."

Kyle snickered.

"Well, I'm glad you're not in an awful mood, though I wouldn't blame you if you were."

Kyle watched as a hand reached up and grabbed a picture frame balanced on the piano; with one fluid push it toppled over so the front couldn't be seen.

"I'm fine." Grey eyes slid over to meet Kyle's; questioning. "Are you going, too?"

Kyle shook his head. "I couldn't get the time off of work so I'm going after, with Stan." He took another sip. "Is it okay if we stop by your work on the way back here? You know, to get something to drink?"

In a moment, the music stopped abruptly and then Kyle watched as the lid of the piano was slammed down; the room plunged into silence. Craig turned his head toward him and smiled again, slowly.

"Sure, of course."

Craig knew Kyle's morning routine like the back of his hand. After living together for two years it was only natural, really.

With a casual grace Craig scooped cinnamon-flavored coffee into the maker, taking care to make it strong but not too strong. After pouring the water, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a dogeared yellow mug and carefully placed it on the counter, sliding one finger along the rim where pink lips would soon come to rest. The almond milk (caramel, of course) was waiting in the door of the fridge but he made sure to lay out two packets of Splenda next to the mug.

Checking the time, Craig saw that he was right on schedule, and when Kyle's alarm went off two minutes later, piano music was already sifting through the air and no doubt reaching the redhead's room, along with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He always made sure to play one of Kyle's favorites in the morning to help him wake up in a better mood. This morning the selection was cliche: Chopin's nocturne op. 9 No. 2. It was chilling but soothing, and Kyle loved it so. Craig had been playing the piano for Kyle, whether he could hear it or not, since they were in middle school; after his world came crashing down and he needed something to cling to.

Kyle always set his alarm for 7:30 so he could snooze it three times at ten minute increments a piece. Finally, by the time he was ready to roll out of bed, it would be 8 am and he'd throw his legs over the side of the mattress, his delicate feet coming to rest against the floor; his toes flexing gently on the wood which always seemed to be cold. Craig could practically feel Kyle's movements in his bones as he stood and crossed the floor to the bathroom, slowly shedding his clothes and then turning on the shower. Craig could never understand why Kyle didn't turn on the shower first before undressing, but he wasn't going to ask for a reason, of course.

Even Kyle's shower routine was always the same, and Craig closed his eyes to envision his slender body standing under the shower spray, the shampoo gathering in his red curls and draping them down against the back of his neck. He envisioned his fragile shoulder blades sliding under Kyle's skin as he washed his arms, first the left, then the right, all while a peaceful stillness would pass over him. It was in that moment that Craig knew Kyle was fortifying himself for the day, there among white tiles and water splashing against clean porcelain.

When he could finally tear himself away from the comforting warmth, he'd step out and go to the mirror, a towel swathed around slim hips and those luscious curls filled with the spicy scent of his shampoo; an aroma like a rain-drenched forest, the scent of apples on its heels. Craig could never understand where the apple scent came from, maybe it was just Kyle's natural aroma? He wouldn't be surprised. Kyle would then brush his teeth and fuss with his hair, hating it even though others adored it, and then would come the customary two dabs of cologne; one behind each ear. He would usually skip shaving because it never seemed to be necessary, having been blessed with smooth, creamy skin.

Then into the bedroom where his clothes were already laid out and ready; charcoal dress pants and a powder blue button up shirt that complemented his hair beautifully. He would sit on the edge of his bed and pull on his dark dress socks and his slippers, then he would stand and grab his wallet, keys, and phone; wallet and phone in his back pockets while his keys stayed in his hand, jingling with every step. Then he would proceed into the kitchen where he'd prepare his coffee; all while Craig's music filled up his ears and prepared him for the day ahead. Craig's mouth would fill with moisture as his heart pounded with anticipation, his entire body tensing up as he waited for the absolute best time of his day.

Soft footsteps and then Craig turned, the morning sun against his back, and he smiled in greeting; his heart thumping violently in his aching chest. He was always afraid that Kyle would see his heart in his eyes and know, but he never seemed to notice. Or maybe he just wasn't looking for the truth. But that was okay, Craig would help him see it eventually, and then they could live their lives the way they were meant to be.

He greeted Kyle the same way everyday, casually, his curtness belying the feelings in his heart. Craig continued to play but he was painfully aware of Kyle's presence, the way he curled into himself on the couch like a woodland creature nesting. He took a sip of coffee and Craig could feel his sharp intake of breath and he smiled to himself; Kyle burned his tongue again. When would he learn to be patient?

They engaged in their usual banter until Kyle asked about the cemetery, and then some of the sunshine flew from the room and Craig could feel the grey settling over his senses again. Kyle reminded him to bring an umbrella and that made some of the color come back and he was able to play it casual, but still the cracks in his heart ached. Never looking up from his music Craig reached up a hand and slammed a photograph down against the smooth black top of the piano; making sure not to look at the shining face smiling back at him. It just hurt too much; even years later. It would always hurt.

Craig didn't think that he could hurt more until Kyle mentioned Stan and then the anger was flooding his insides too; an acidic rage that ate away at the good and left only the bitterness. It was at times like this that the bottle in his pocket, the one from Damien, came to the forefront of his mind and he could only wonder why he was holding off on using it. Abruptly, Craig stopped playing and lowered the piano lid, his eyes sliding over to meet Kyle's, and he could feel himself becoming unraveled in those twin forests; the eyes of an innocent, almost mythical creature. His Kyle.

It wasn't too long before Kyle was departing and Craig would watch the door as it softly closed, leaving only Kyle's scent to linger and drive him to near madness. He didn't always go into Kyle's room after he left for work but he couldn't help it today; he needed to be surrounded by the one he loved more than ever. Drifting down the hallway he pushed open the door and stepped inside, the sunshine falling through the slats of the blinds and laying on the floor like solid bars of gold. The spicy scent was everywhere in here, coupled with the apples and the undeniable musk of Kyle; clean sweat and cologne and another component that could never be named because it was just him. His essence.

Craig found another painful reminder of today's anniversary on Kyle's dresser; a photograph that glowed as brightly as the one on the piano in the living room. He dared to look at it for a moment and then slammed it down as well, along with a picture of Stan. Craig grit his teeth and had to resist crushing that picture to fucking dust in his hands, but he always made sure not to disturb anything in Kyle's room because he could never know he'd been there. He'd almost slipped up so many times at the beginning when they'd first moved in together, when he was still trying to learn Kyle's routine; but he didn't make those sorts of mistakes now.

Instead, Craig crawled into Kyle's bed, into the sheets and blanket that still carried faint warmth from the body he adored so much (or at least he wished it did), and he would wrap himself up. He lay his head against the pillow that had cradled those red, bewitching curls and breathe deeply, wondering what sorts of dreams had been dreamed the night before. Before too long, he reached into his pants slowly and began to rub himself, the ecstasy rising in him as he nestled into Kyle's smell and presence. For a moment, it was almost like he was making love to the person he loved the most, there in his bed as morning continued to gather outside the window; song birds trilling like flutes in the trees.


	3. Chapter 3

**You go to my head**  
 **You linger like a haunting refrain**  
 **And I find you spinning round**  
 **In my brain**  
 **Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne**  
 **You go to my head**  
 **Like a sip of sparkling burgundy brew**  
 **And I find the very mention of you**  
 **Like the kicker in a julep or two**

 **-Billie Holiday, You Go to My Head**

* * *

The rain started as soon as Craig arrived at the cemetery, falling in quarter-sized drops and saturating the landscape almost instantly.

 _Naturally,_ he thought.

For a moment, he sat in his car and contemplated the rain and the tombstones stretching out before him in endless rows; pieces on the Devil's chessboard. The thought made him grin, his hand coming to rest on his pocket, tracing the outline of the scarlet bottle waiting within. He still couldn't pluck up the courage to use its contents, though he couldn't say why. Maybe he was holding out hope that Kyle would see the light on his own? Who could say?

Or maybe it was because Damien hadn't exactly been clear about what it would do to Kyle. He'd only told Craig to pour it into his drink and wait, that Craig's actions would determine the outcome. Craig felt a faint chill coursing through his blood at the cold nature of Damien's delivery, but he supposed that was to be expected. All he knew for sure was that he'd had to contribute something of himself to the potion, a single drop of blood, in order to make it complete. Holding up a finger, he could see that the tiny wound had already knitted itself together; almost completely healed. He really needed to make a decision soon.

Sighing, Craig picked up the umbrella he'd only thought to bring because of Kyle's reminder, and he couldn't help but caress it lovingly. Kyle had given it to him because he never seemed to have one, and that alone made it dear to Craig; a simple, red umbrella held loosely in his hand. The rain continued to pour and he could remember the day of the funeral, so sunny and splattered with Autumn colors rushing by in a frost-tinged wind. Closing his eyes, Craig leaned his head back against the headrest and fought back the burn behind his eyelids. He had to do this; it was the anniversary, the most important day of the year aside from Kyle's birthday.

Finally, after talking himself off the ledge and realizing that he had to be to work in less than an hour and a half, Craig forced himself out of the car and started the dreary trudge to the grave. He could picture it clearly even without seeing it; simple but tasteful and always dressed in yellow daffodils; they had been _his_ favorite before he departed. Craig always thought that _he_ would've been a daffodil had he been a flower, striking yellow and full of sunshine even as he trembled.

Craig was carrying a fresh bouquet of vibrant daffodils as he plodded through the rain; the red umbrella opened over top of him in a garish splash against the grey sky. How he wished that Kyle could be here with him, holding his hand and encouraging him in just the right way. The only time he ever took Craig's hand was when they were visiting the cemetery; when they stood in front of the little headstone and got lost in the memories. Kyle had been holding his hand in one way or another since middle school, when everything changed and Craig's life came to a halt. He'd been the only thing to get him moving again; keep him going.

He stopped in front of the headstone and had to fight the urge to fall on his knees and start crying. Footprints were pressed into the mud and quickly disappearing in the onslaught of the storm, but Craig could see that many people had already come to pay their respects; had come to mourn the moldering bones under the earth. Desperately, he tried to fight back that imagery but it always sprang to mind when he stood in this place; the idea that someone so loved in life could be reduced to so little in death. Against his will, a sob tore from Craig's throat and he started to weep, the umbrella clenched in his hand and the daffodils crushed to his chest; their warm aroma enveloping him and taking him back to the past.

Reaching out a hand, he traced the name on the headstone as raindrops collected and slid down the silvery grey:

 _ **Tweek Tweak.**_

God, it always seemed like he'd lost him just yesterday; but it had already been 10 years.

"Are you going to play tonight?"

Craig looked up and had to take a deep breath. Kyle under muted lighting was always a thing of beauty as far as he was concerned; the gold caught the highlights in his hair and made it burn. He struggled to keep his face passive.

"I'm not sure."

Kyle leaned forward against the bar and smiled, a slow, coquettish smile that immediately sparked arousal in Craig. He looked away quickly, still in the process of mixing a rum and coke for his redheaded siren.

"I really think you should," Kyle said, his voice soft. Craig almost shuddered. Didn't he realize how seductive he sounded when his voice was a near-whisper? "I think it would be good for you, you know? I mean, considering what day it is today..."

Craig looked up, beginning to feel sharp. He'd cried at the cemetery; that was about the extent of his emotional outpourings for one month, let alone a day.

"It isn't that big of a deal," he said slowly, pushing the rum and coke across the counter; a streak of moisture in its wake.

Kyle took it into his hands and gave Craig a look; a narrowing of green eyes and his pink lips pressed into a line.

"I know you don't mean that, Craig." Lifting the drink, he took a small sip; his eyes faraway. "I saw the daffodils you left, by the way. Tweek would've loved them."

"I know," Craig replied, his tone crisp. He nodded his head toward Stan, who was sitting at a table across the room and looking at his phone. Craig could never understand how he could be out with someone like Kyle and not keep his eyes on him every moment, lingering and just adoring him. "What does he want?"

"Oh, the usual," Kyle replied, shrugging delicate shoulders. "Bud Light."

Craig had to resist rolling his eyes and scowling. Typical.

"Sure, coming right up." He poured the beer into a frosted glass and slid it across the bar as well. "Anything else?"

Kyle looked up at him, his lips parted slightly and his eyes so soft and so pleading. Without warning, Craig's heart started beating faster and he almost felt weak; in that moment, he knew he'd do anything Kyle asked. Christ, he'd jump off a building, slice his own heart out of his chest...that's what it felt like seeing Kyle with Stan anyway; might as well just get it over with.

"Please play for me, Craig," Kyle murmured, running a finger over the edge of his glass; vague sparkles catching the lights above. "It always makes me feel better. Especially on days like this." He looked up. "And I think it would make you feel better, too. I know you won't tell me but I know you're hurting." Lifting the drinks, he tilted his head; a coy gesture that stole Craig's breath away. "Just think about it, okay?"

Craig nodded curtly and watched as Kyle walked away, his eyes lingering on the graceful curve of his back; his woebegone posture. Kyle always knew just what to say to get to him. He didn't harangue him or get in his face; no, he made suggestions, he just knew. He knew that Craig always felt better when he was playing and getting lost in the music, but he didn't guilt him. He handled Craig delicately but he didn't baby him at all. At the end of the day, even though Craig was broken and bleeding and reeling from loss, Kyle never forgot that he was a human that might be okay someday; he just needed support.

It was that attitude that had drawn them so close together when Tweek passed away. Everyone else had treated Craig with kid gloves, like he was a bomb that would detonate at any moment, but Kyle had approached the situation differently. He had merely sat in silence with Craig for hours at a time, not prodding him to talk or expecting anything extraordinary. No, he had waited and been a warm body that Craig could curl against when the sadness was too much to bear. When Craig had finally been ready to talk, to cry, Kyle had been there, and he still didn't coddle him. He'd just been there, always, and had been a saving grace in a time of such deep darkness that Craig had almost disappeared.

Craig watched Kyle and Stan for a moment, despising their closeness as they laughed softly together; almost like everyone else in the bar had faded away into nothingness. He'd watched them for years and saw how Kyle adored Stan, but Stan had never really been open to making a commitment; at least not yet. Craig clenched his fist until his nails dug into his tender palm, drawing blood. How could Stan be standing so close to paradise and not see it? How could he be so fucking stupid?

"You should be asking yourself the same thing," a dark voice spoke up, breaking into Craig's thoughts. He started and looked up, surprised to see a person suddenly seated at the bar; elegant and handsome even as his eyes glowed red in the dim lighting.

Craig ignored the gentleman's baiting and kept his face smooth and unruffled; just like always.

"What can I get for you?"

The man smirked, one curved canine sparkling.

"A Manhattan." Looking up, Damien regarded Craig closely; his face wicked and full of sinful knowledge. "You still don't have the balls to use it, do you?"

Craig stiffened slightly but continued to work; pulling out bottles of whiskey and vermouth.

"Top shelf only, please," Damien instructed, watching closely.

"You know I wouldn't slip you the cheap shit," Craig snapped, slamming a cocktail glass on the counter.

"I'm sure," his counterpart purred, resting his face on a sleek, ivory hand. "But are you capable of slipping Kyle anything? That's the real question."

Craig froze, his eyes narrowing as he plopped a cherry on the drink. He delicately placed a napkin on the counter and then set the drink down in front of his aggravating patron. Leaning against the bar, he watched as Damien took a cautious sip, feeling almost relieved when he nodded his head in satisfaction.

"I just don't know if I can do it," he finally said, his eyes trailing over to Kyle and Stan again. He bristled to see Stan's hand coming to rest on top of Kyle's; the image making his blood boil in his veins. Tearing his eyes away, he looked back at Damien to see him watching the pair across the room as well.

"So, that must be your little cherub," he commented, his dark eyes filling up with what could only be considered lust. "Nice choice, Tucker. I can see the appeal." He turned back around. "Quit being a chicken shit and get a move on."

"I already told you I don't know if I can do it," Craig growled, wanting to strangle Damien for eyeing Kyle the way he had. His hands tightened on the edge of the bar, his knuckles whitening. "I mean, you didn't even tell me what that shit does. How can I just give it to him?"

Damien took another careful sip; aristocratic eyebrows raised. He shrugged.

"If you want him badly enough you won't worry about that." Glancing over his shoulder, Damien gazed at Kyle again. "I'd advise you to move quickly, by the way. You really don't want to know what that dark haired motherfucker is thinking right now." He looked at Craig again, grinning maliciously. "It's positively filthy."

Craig clenched his jaw, willing himself to hold back from knocking the antichrist out.

"I don't want to hurt him."

Damien laughed.

"You are such a fucking trip, Tucker," he said, finishing off his drink. "You're willing to make a deal with me but you don't want to hurt him." He waved a hand dismissively toward Kyle. "That's just classic." He glanced up, catching Craig's eyes. "It isn't going to hurt him, you pussy. It's going to influence him; give you an edge. So, get to it and quit pissing and moaning. Otherwise," he stood up, tossing a twenty on the bar, "you're going to lose him, and no force in Heaven or Hell can help you. Besides, I get paid either way."

Craig snatched up the money and crushed it in his hand, scowling.

"That's another thing. Just what do I owe you, anyway? You still haven't told me."

Damien stopped smirking, his face becoming so still and serious that Craig couldn't help but take a step back.

"I never discuss payment before the proper time," Damien said, softly. "Really, that's just impolite, Tucker; don't be uncouth." He turned to leave and then looked back at Craig, taking him by surprise. "Believe me, I'll make you pay, but I'll decide when. So fucking get on with it." With a dismissive glance, Damien walked away, the lights catching his dark hair and making it gleam. Craig watched him leave the bar with a horrible feeling of dread settling in his heart until he was gone, and then he swung his eyes back to Kyle; laughing and flirting with Stan, seeming so happy and content. The sight made him want to scream.

"Hey," he called to a server walking by. "Watch the bar for a little bit; I want to play for awhile."

The server nodded his head, clearly not wanting to argue based on the fury registering on Craig's usually-stoic face. Craig untied his apron and threw it under the counter, taking care to grab his tips; you just couldn't trust anyone and there was no way he'd let his hard earned money get lifted. Walking to the baby grand in the corner, he sat on the bench and automatically started feeling tranquil; calmness washing over him and making him sigh. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Kyle watching him intently, and he was glad that he was too far away for the blush across his cheeks to become obvious.

A hush fell over the crowd as Craig began to play, and every note was inspired and meant for Kyle alone; the music flowing through the room and filling it up. As his fingers flew over the keys Craig also conjured up memories from yesteryear, of a blond-haired boy with soft blue eyes and nervous, fumbling hands; like two white birds that could never settle. Tweek had died on an Autumn Tuesday a decade before, but every day since then had been a small loss as far as Craig could tell; the only moments not completely empty were the ones spent with Kyle.

The notes swirled through the room like rich, dark wine, and Craig could only hope that Kyle knew the words to the song he played, because every one of them was aimed directly at his heart:

 _When I fall in love_  
 _It will be forever_  
 _Or I'll never fall in love_  
 _Oh, I'll never never fall in love..._

It wasn't until later on that night, after the last drink had been poured and the last patron had been ushered from the bar, the floors swept and the bar polished to a high glossy shine that Craig seriously started mulling over what Damien had said. He knew in his heart that he needed to make a decision, that his blood had already been spilled for the sake of having a chance with Kyle, but something in his brain, maybe the last sane part, was still holding him back.

Thoughts of Tweek were in Craig's brain as he drove home and stayed with him as he climbed the stairs to the apartment he shared with Kyle; winding stairs that led upward into the darkness. The only light came from the caustic moon falling over everything with its brilliance; its light taking on a milky, poisonous quality after midnight had come and gone. Tweek's skin had been the same color as the illness that had invaded his body ravaged his flesh, making him sink inward and nearly disappear. The memory brought a little bile up Craig's throat but he fought it down; willing the horrible memories away, but they never left completely.

Stepping into the foyer, Craig saw that Kyle had left the home lights burning; an antique lamp with Tiffany glass glowing like a jewel in the living room. It had been a gift from his parents; a holdover from when Kyle's grandmother passed away and placed in storage until Kyle was old enough to move away. Craig's finger drifted over the smooth glass as he passed through to his room, the only sound in the apartment the ticking of a clock in the kitchen. The only sound until -

Craig stopped in front of Kyle's door and he could hear the sighs from within, the gentle creaking of bed springs and he knew, he just knew. He could practically feel Stan invading Kyle's body and claiming it as his own, his dirty, unworthy hands crawling over ivory flesh and sullying it forever. He could hear a faint moan crawling through the heavy, nighttime air and Craig could barely fight back his own arousal, imagining Kyle's cheeks flushing with every thrust and movement. For a moment, his hand drifted to the doorknob and he wanted to break through the barrier and stop the whole ugly business, but he didn't dare. Instead, he moved on to his room at the opposite end of the hall; hatefully and unforgivably bereft of anyone, his arms empty.

He turned on the small lamp next to his bed and slumped down, his hand immediately going to his pocket as nauseating thoughts of Kyle in Stan's arms kept assaulting his brain. Craig just couldn't understand it; Kyle hadn't even wanted to be roommates with Stan when the offer had presented itself. No, it would be too complicated and messy, especially since Stan didn't know what he wanted, not really. Kyle had opted for Craig because in his heart he had to know that's where he truly belonged, right? His subconscious realized it even if Kyle couldn't see the truth; at least that's what Craig hoped for.

Pulling out the scarlet bottle, Craig studied it in the glow of the lamplight, the glass throbbing like a fiery ruby in his hand. A thump on the wall, a headboard slamming against the drywall, was enough to convince him that his hand had been forced; there was just no other option anymore.

In the morning, when Kyle woke to piano music and the scent of coffee spilling into his room, Stan draped across him in sleepy repose, Craig would have a little surprise waiting for him. There would be a secret ingredient added to the morning's brew, and Kyle wouldn't even realize it as cinnamon-flavored coffee passed over his lips and down his throat. He wouldn't know until it was too late that there was more in his cup than two Splenda and caramel flavored almond milk; much, much more.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm feeling mighty lonesome**  
 **Haven't slept a wink**  
 **I walk the floor and watch the door**  
 **And in between I drink**  
 **Black coffee**  
 **Love's a hand-me-down brew**  
 **I'll never know a Sunday**  
 **In this weekday room**

 **-Black Coffee, written by J. Francis Burke / Paul Francis Webster - sung by Peggy Lee (bc she's amazing)**

* * *

Craig hadn't anticipated waking up with trepidation in his heart, but he did.

When he opened his eyes and saw the sun shining through the blinds he almost groaned. He wasn't in the mood for sunshine today; he just wanted quiet, protective fog and rain. He was also irritated that the weather had gotten its act together the day following the anniversary of Tweek's death; where the fuck was the sun when he was kneeling by his dead lover's grave? Jesus fucking Christ, what was even wrong with the universe? Craig didn't think he'd ever be able to figure out that quandary even though he'd been asking himself that question for years.

Craig lay against the pillows in his too large bed, hating the bare space beside him and sinking into the quiet of the early morning apartment. Somehow, he could feel Kyle's energy and he knew that he was wrapped up in the arms of Stan, their breaths probably in fucking unison as they continued to sleep. Craig had always been an early riser and a restless sleeper, especially since Tweek's passing. He only really desired sleep because it made it possible to get away from his thoughts for awhile, but then the dreams and nightmares tormented him; visions of what he'd lost and what he continued to live without even though it was so fucking close.

He turned his head and regarded the scarlet bottle on the bedside table, dark now without any light to illuminate it. Could he really go ahead with it? How could he? Craig clenched his hands on the comforter and stared at the bottle, hating it even as he desired its promises. How the fuck did he even get to this point?

For awhile, a long while actually, Damien had been a dark stranger that came into the bar on occasion. Craig had barely paid him any mind at first though he did look familiar, but he wasn't really the type of person that made inquiries of strangers; not without a good reason. He was the type to go about his everyday affairs and just deal; life was about survival, nothing more, nothing less. No, Damien had been the one to approach him first, which made a perverse kind of sense considering the nature of his business.

Craig had just gotten done playing a set when Damien strolled over to the bar, dressed all in black like always and with his usual smirk drifting over his lips. He took a seat and folded his hands in front of himself and waited; just waited, until Craig finally looked up and cocked an eyebrow.

"Can I get you something?"

"A Manhattan. Top shelf only," he'd replied, tapping the bar with a long fingernail.

Craig had had to fight back the urge to roll his eyes. He hated pretentious assholes who acted like they weren't drinking liquor to get drunk. Who the fuck cared what the booze tasted like as long as you got obliterated?

"I care," Damien had said suddenly, smoothly; taking Craig completely by surprise.

"Excuse me?" He'd asked, pulling out bottles of high quality liquor. His brain was racing trying to remember how to make a Manhattan, but he also had the unsettling feeling like there was more to this stranger than met the eye.

"I care what my alcohol tastes like because I can afford to. Is there a problem with that?"

Craig had just stared at him, refusing to reveal the fact that the stranger had startled him. Remaining calm was a staple of his, at least on the surface; it unnerved people and he got a secret thrill out of that fact.

"I guess not," he finally said, mixing sweet vermouth, whiskey and bitters over ice. He stirred the drink briskly, taking his eyes away from the dark haired gentleman's face. If he had a nickel for every time he had to deal with weirdos in his line of work he'd be a fucking millionaire. After a few moments, he strained the drink into a chilled cocktail glass, garnished it with a cherry, and then pushed it across the bar. "Anything else?"

A slim hand reached out and took the drink languidly, lifted it to that smirking mouth, and then a deep sip; an instant look of satisfaction passed over the gentleman's features.

"Not bad," he'd commented, placing the drink back down.

Craig had shrugged.

"Thanks. Honestly, I almost couldn't remember how to make it; people don't order Manhattans that often."

The stranger had snorted, a look of contempt coming to stamp out the satisfaction.

"Sorry to break up the monotony of appletinis and bullshit, friend," he remarked, resting his hand on the chilled glass, stroking a finger through some lingering moisture. "I'm afraid class has gone the way of the dodo, but I'm sure you've already noticed that."

Craig had looked around the bar, his eyes taking in the regulars as they drank, becoming faded as the hour grew late. It was by no means a dive, even he had to admit that, and for a moment his eyes rested on the piano in the corner, the dim lighting washing over its black surface, making it shimmer richly. But, still, there was always a feeling of desperation that lingered in the air, and he could never say why. Maybe it was the fact that people came here to drown their sorrows, or to pick up someone for the night? Who could really say? Trash could flourish in a high end piano bar as well as it could in a strip club on the Block. He turned back to Damien and shrugged again.

"Sure, why not?"

The stranger had started chuckling, and Craig was surprised at the irritation that had settled in his gut. What the fuck was this guy's deal?

"You're not big on conversation, are you? That's pretty odd for a bartender; aren't you guys makeshift therapists?"

Craig had actually cracked a smile at that.

"What can I say? I've always been told that I'm a still water that runs deep."

The stranger took a sip, some of the mirth evaporating in an instant. Craig immediately felt on edge, which annoyed him to no end; he wasn't used to being effected by anyone this way. Except for Kyle, of course.

"I think your waters run deeper than most people would think," the stranger said, and that was the first time Craig noticed that his dark eyes weren't straight black. They were almost the color of congealed blood, flashing scarlet depending on the light; at least that's how it looked. He blinked rapidly and looked again, but they were back to almost black in an instant.

"What are you talking about?" Craig asked, busying himself with some of his side work; refilling salt and pepper shakers.

"I've been listening to you play for awhile," the patron had replied, gesturing towards the piano. "Your music speaks volumes on your behalf."

Craig could feel vague anger beginning to simmer in his gut; presumptuous fucking asshole. He kept his face smooth.

"I still have no clue what you mean."

The stranger sat back, smirking. He'd almost finished his drink but he trailed a finger along the rim.

"Fine, play it cagey, but I think you know exactly what I mean, Craig."

"How did you know my fucking name?"

He'd pointed at Craig's chest, still smirking.

"Your name tag."

Craig had looked down at his shirt and scowled, some of his emotions finally bleeding out. He'd glanced up, eyes narrowed while his heart started thudding with rage and just a tinge of fear, which he would've never openly admitted to anyone.

"Okay, dude. Knock it off with this ambiguous bullshit. Just what the fuck do you want?"

"Can't a fan compliment you on your playing?" The stranger asked, trying to look innocent now. "I just wanted to let you know that you convey so much emotion through your music, and here you are, up in arms." He shrugged. "Your music smacks of..." he'd paused, still toying with his glass, "unrequited love?" He smiled but it looked more like a sneer from Craig's point of view.

Craig's hands had clenched on the bar and he'd had to fight every part of himself from socking this snooty motherfucker in the mouth. He'd snatched up the stranger's glass and clenched his fingers around it, almost hoping it would shatter so he could drive a piece of glass into the asshole's eye.

"Are you done yet?" He'd seethed. "We're getting ready to close up here pretty soon."

The patron merely smiled and pushed himself off the stool gracefully, completely unruffled and smooth.

"Sure. What do I owe you?"

"For your top shelf Manhattan?" Craig bit out, practically shaking. "Ten bucks."

The stranger had reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, then held it out between two fingers.

"Keep the change."

Craig had reached out and snatched it up, his teeth gritted.

"Don't do me any favors," he'd snapped.

The man had looked up and now Craig was sure of it; this aggravating ass hat's eyes were fucking red, Jesus H. Christ. Perspiration came to collect on the back of his neck, unbidden.

"Don't spend it all in one place," he'd replied, still smirking; the smile splitting his face making him look like a goddamn jackal. "I'm Damien, by the way," the gentleman said, turning to leave. "See you around, Craig."

Craig had watched him leave the bar, the ire still racing through his blood and making him feel like he was going to come apart at the seams. More than anything he wanted to run after the guy and put his head through a fucking wall, but he talked himself down; trying to remain calm. This just wasn't him, goddammit. Nobody got to him like that, and that smarmy motherfucker had managed to get his goat after less than 20 minutes of small talk. Jesus fucking Christ.

He'd finished up his side work and closed down the bar while nursing his rage, and by the time he was walking out of the bar it was far after midnight and the stars were out in droves; hanging low in the sky as the summer warmth lingered. Craig had thought of Kyle and knew that he was safe at home, all alone. Stan hadn't been available to hang out that night and Kyle had opted to stay in and indulge in a Golden Girls marathon: white wine and Chinese food on standby, his old go to when he was all on his own.

"Maybe I could..." Craig had said to himself, the words floating on the air and disappearing. For a crazy moment he'd thought about going home and just confessing to Kyle; tell him everything and finally come clean. But, no, he could never do that. Damien's words floated back to him and the rage was back in spades.

 _Unrequited love._

The words were fucking acid in his chest, eating at his heart and leaving it a smoking mass. Craig couldn't think of anything crueler than a one-sided love, but then his thoughts strayed to Tweek and how he'd died so young because of a vicious, unfeeling illness that thirsted for blood and agony. In a flash, it was like everything about life was one big fucking, mean-spirited joke and humanity was just the punchline, and Craig knew he couldn't go home; not while he felt this way, so crazy and out of control.

He'd dug in his pocket and fished out his phone, and before he knew it he was dialing a familiar number; spurned by desperation and biological need. When the person on the other end had answered he'd been curt and to the point, as per usual.

"I'm coming over," he'd said, every word clipped. "Leave the door open."

In a moment, he had been in his car and he was racing to the other side of town; to Bebe's apartment, a painful erection pulsing in his pants and his hands wrapped around the steering wheel like he was strangling it. He didn't love her, not in the slightest, but she was a good and easy fuck, and if he couldn't wet his dick in the waters he really desired he supposed he would just have to make do, right?

Bebe had been exquisite that night, long, loose curls unraveling over her full breasts as she threw her head back, Craig thrusting into her as she straddled his lap. With every pulse he'd wanted to say Kyle's name, but of course he didn't dare. He'd finished and felt okay for a moment, but as he laid in Bebe's bed, her head nestled on his chest, he'd been besieged with the same old burning desire; his thoughts miles away with the redhead he'd put on the highest pedestal possible. The need and the want was so potent inside of him that he'd physically ached as he'd hugged Bebe close, and the tears had fallen in hateful streams down his face.

The same feeling was coursing through Craig now as he lay in his bed on a Saturday morning, his beloved just down the hall but so far away he might as well be on another planet entirely. He pressed his hands to his face and sighed. What was he going to do if he didn't fucking sack up and use Damien's potion? What other choice did he have?

 _You could just fucking tell him the truth and see how he feels,_ his mind screeched at him; a thought he'd had so many times it was practically plastered across his brain.

But what if he came clean and Kyle rejected him? How could he ever deal with the fallout?

Sighing, Craig gathered himself and his thoughts and managed to roll out of bed, his feet hitting the floor and making him wince. Fucking cold-ass floorboards. Slipping on a robe and his slippers he made his way out of his room and down the hall, stopping for a moment outside of Kyle's door. The faint scent of apples and spice floated on the air and he breathed it in deeply, holding the aroma in his lungs and wishing it would just become a part of his blood and flesh. Continuing on into the kitchen, Craig's thoughts stayed in Kyle's room, envisioning the deep green comforter on his bed, hatefully draped across him and Stan.

Craig slowly pulled together the ingredients for Kyle's morning cup of coffee; cinnamon gourmet coffee, splenda, caramel almond milk, the yellow mug, and -

The scarlet bottle, laying across his open palm and almost seeming to vibrate as Craig stared at it. It pulsed like a ruby heart again in the muted light of the kitchen, and as the coffee brewed, filling the room with its dark aroma, Craig's mouth became dry as his thoughts raced. He could imagine a life with Kyle at his side, waking up to him every morning and kissing that beautiful, gasping mouth and touching that ethereal, smooth skin; white and perfect and soft.

"Morning, dude," a voice cut into his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. Craig looked up sharply and saw Stan lingering in the doorway, sleepy-eyed and disheveled from a night defiling Kyle. Craig regarded him for a moment and knew that if looks could kill, Stan would be dead fifty times before he hit the floor.

"'Sup?" Craig asked, turning to the coffee pot and lifting it. In a fluid motion, he poured coffee into Kyle's waiting mug. After a moment, he poured in the milk and the Splenda and then he twisted the top off the scarlet bottle, all in view of Stan, who was none the wiser; the fucking jackass.

"What's that?" Stan asked, yawning and curious. Craig glanced at him and hated his handsome, open face more than ever. He came over, stretching his long arms over his head, and Craig could feel the ire in his blood rising with every step he took.

"Vanilla extract," Craig said idly, swiftly dumping the contents into Kyle's mug and stirring it delicately. He cocked an eye at Stan. "How'd you two sleep?"

Stan shrugged, a lazy, casual grin sliding over his face; his cobalt blue eyes flashing in a friendly, hound dog sort of way.

"Okay, all things considered. Kyle was pretty upset about yesterday, of course." He glanced at Craig fleetingly, his face full of sympathy that made him feel nauseous. "I saw the daffodils; they were beautiful, man." Stan kicked at the floor, awkwardly. "What a perfect flower for Tweek, you know? Like, his hair was practically the same color, and they just seem to fit his personality, you know?" He jammed his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, blushing a little. Craig just stared at him, contempt coursing through him like a poisonous river.

"Right." Craig picked up the mug and then a wonderful, perfect idea occurred to him, and he was suddenly offering the mug to Stan. "Did you want to bring this to Kyle for me? He's awake, right?"

Stan accepted it, clearly surprised. It wasn't often that Craig asked anything of him, especially when it came to Kyle.

"Yeah, he's up. I'll take it to him."

Craig thought a moment, and then spoke again.

"Did you want some coffee, too?" He asked, the question burning on his tongue. He'd sooner feed Stan a tumbler of disinfectant.

Stan turned back, grimacing openly.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I can't stand coffee."

Craig grinned, having already been privy to this bit of information.

"Oh, right," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to appear sheepish. "Silly me."

"No worries," Stan said, smiling sweetly. He was almost out of the kitchen when Craig spoke again, his voice deceptively friendly and casual.

"Make sure he drinks all of it, okay? Kyle is terrible about eating breakfast; he practically lives on coffee until lunchtime."

Stan glanced over his shoulder and smirked.

"I know, he's awful about that. Don't worry, I'll personally see to it that he drinks the whole thing."

"See that you do," Craig replied, watching as Stan wandered out of the kitchen, the cup of coffee balanced carefully in his hand. A small fire of excitement kindled itself in his belly as he heard Kyle's door open and close softly; and Craig couldn't help but laugh a little. Now wasn't this a perfect development?

Feeling positively giddy, Craig left the kitchen and went straight to the living room. Opening the piano bench, he fished out some sheet music and tore through it until he found the song that was suddenly invading his brain. He sat down and placed the music on the piano, cracking his fingers before lifting the lid and draping his hands across the keys; cool and inviting as the morning sunlight fell through the windows and glinted on their milky-yellow surfaces. In a moment, he began to play and the song wafted into the air and all through the apartment, down the hallway where Stan was personally serving Kyle Damien's specially-concocted extract. Craig couldn't help but smirk as he thought of that perfect mouth draping itself on the edge of the mug and tasting that morning's delicacy; specially prepared by the one who loved him the most and always would.

Humming, Craig played the torch song until it filled up his senses and he became lost, the words whirling in his brain and directed straight at Kyle, just like all of his music:

 _I've got you under my skin._  
 _I've got you deep in the heart of me._  
 _So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me._  
 _I've got you under my skin._  
 _I'd tried so not to give in._  
 _I said to myself, this affair never will go so well._  
 _But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well_  
 _I've got you under my skin?_


	5. Chapter 5

**On my own**  
 **Pretending he's beside me**  
 **All alone**  
 **I walk with him till morning**  
 **Without him**  
 **I feel his arms around me**  
 **And when I lose my way I close my eyes**  
 **And he has found me**

 **-On My Own, from Les Miserables (written by Alain Albert Boublil / Claude Michel Schonberg / Herbert Kretzmer / Jean Marc Natel)**

* * *

 **10 Years Prior**

"What are you doing here?"

Kyle walked across the room slowly, almost like he was approaching a startled animal on the verge of attacking. Keeping his eyes on Craig, his cheeks slightly flushed, he held up a stack of paper and shook it a little.

"I brought your homework for the week," he replied, gently setting it down on Craig's desk. "Everyone's wondering when you'll come back to school."

Craig just stared at the paper he deposited on his desk and then back at Kyle, making sure to keep his face blank and still. He turned away abruptly and shrugged one shoulder.

"I'm sure."

Soft footsteps and then Craig could feel warmth pressing against his side though he wasn't being touched; no one would dare touch him since Tweek died. They knew better.

"Craig?" A timid voice broke through the afternoon stillness, making him turn his head just a fraction. Kyle was standing right next to him now, his teeth worrying his full bottom lip. Craig just cocked an eyebrow and waited, clearly making Kyle feel even more uncomfortable. Good.

"Would you mind if I hung out with you for a little while?" Kyle asked, dropping his eyes to the floor; to a pool of sunlight drenching the carpet.

The request actually surprised Craig a little; he didn't think he was still capable of feeling anything but anger or deep, heart wrenching loss. On the heels of surprise was another emotion though: suspicion.

"Why?"

Kyle shrugged his shoulders a little, which struck Craig as a tiny, fragile movement, and for a moment he was reminded of Tweek and his spastic ways; slim limbs moving every which way and almost uncontrollable. They had had a breakable quality too, hadn't they?

"I don't know, honestly," Kyle said, his green eyes drifting up to meet Craig's. "I just feel like being quiet for a little while, you know? I won't bother you, I promise."

Craig looked at him, completely perplexed now. Nobody had wanted to deal with his ongoing silence for weeks now, and he was glad. When he was alone he didn't need to pretend like he wasn't falling apart every moment of the day. The fact that someone just wanted to sit in quiet with him was an entirely new development. But still, the suspicion lingered; it's not like he and Kyle were ever close.

"Don't you want to hang out with Stan and the other guys?" Craig gestured around the room, at the stacks of books and his stereo. "I'm not going to entertain you, so -"

"No, no," Kyle shook his head, and for the first time Craig noticed the copper highlights in his hair; pale glimmers of autumn fire like the leaves outside. "I don't need you to do anything, okay? And I really don't want to be with Stan or Cartman or anyone else right now. They're so loud."

Craig felt his walls lowering just a tad, and he sighed.

"Fine, I guess you can stay," he said. "But leave me alone, okay? I was in the middle of something when you barged in."

"Right, yeah," Kyle said, holding up his hands. "I totally get it."

Craig had just grunted and gone back to reading his book, but he couldn't help but steal glances at Kyle every once in awhile, and as the afternoon wore on, he saw that the redhead had been telling the truth. He didn't talk or badger Craig, rather, he sat in a pool of sunlight and looked out the window as the leaves twirled through the air and the sun descended lower and lower toward the horizon. At one point, Craig turned on the lamp on his desk and its golden, dusky glow illuminated Kyle's hair even more, and he found himself looking at it again; vaguely aware that he could almost admire its beauty.

It wasn't until Craig's mother came into the room to tell him it was time to practice the piano that he noticed that Kyle had fallen asleep; leaned against the wall in calm repose, his lips parted as he breathed deeply. The window was open above him and the evening air was seeping in, the sky turning royal purple as the stars burned; points of pearl in the gathering twilight. Craig watched the breezes drifting through and catching Kyle's hair, ruffling it just a little as he continued to sleep, none the wiser. Craig's mouth had quirked just a little, and for a moment he almost thought he was going to smile.

Instead, he pushed himself off of his bed and walked over to the sleeping boy and watched him for a second longer. Kyle had come to the funeral too, of course, and Craig suddenly recalled that he had been one of the only kids that had cried for Tweek other than himself. All of his other friends and classmates had just seemed stunned into quiet, but Kyle had wept openly, almost like he wasn't afraid of being seen and condemned for daring to show how sad he was. Shaking his head, Craig pushed the memory away; he didn't want to think about Tweek right now, or crying, or excessive displays of emotion. He was fucking tired of emotion.

"Hey," he murmured, nudging Kyle's foot with his own, but softly. "Wake up, already."

It took a few moments for Kyle to finally stir, and when he blinked awake, he looked up at Craig with tired green eyes that were also full of apology, much to his surprise.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. "I didn't mean to fall asleep, I just felt so relaxed."

Craig knelt down in front of him, his eyebrows raised.

"You don't need to apologize for sleeping," he said, and his gaze fell on the violet shadows under Kyle's eyes. "Are you okay?"

Kyle seemed taken aback at this inquiry, but his surprise quickly melted into a sheepish smile.

"I've been having trouble sleeping since..." he trailed off, his face becoming flushed. "I just keep seeing his face, you know?"

Craig stiffened immediately and stood.

"Come on, I need to practice the piano," he said, curtly. "You can either stay or -" he gestured with his hand toward the door. "It doesn't make a difference to me." He turned to leave, completely uninterested in having an impromptu therapy session with an unwanted redheaded interloper.

Scuffles from behind him told Craig that Kyle was hurriedly getting to his feet. As he left his room he could feel Kyle following him, his soft footsteps passing over the carpet in muted whispers. When they made it to the living room where the piano was waiting, an old upright pressed against the wall; dust collecting on the top but never on the lid, Kyle let out a breath. Craig turned to him, his eyebrows raised in question.

"I just never knew you played," he said, nodding his head toward the instrument.

Craig just rolled his eyes and went over to the piano. He pulled out the bench and opened it up, rooting inside for the music he'd been practicing: Chopin's nocturne op. 9 no. 2. He'd heard it in too many movies and commercials not to be curious about playing it. He propped the music on the holder and sat, gently cracking his fingers a little to loosen them. Settling his fingers on the keys, Craig played a few scales to warm up before he looked at the music, studying the notes that he'd played so many times already.

"That looks hard," a soft voice spoke up beside him, making him almost jump. Glancing over, he saw Kyle leaning down close to his shoulder and staring at the music. "You can play that?"

Craig pulled away a little, annoyed at being interrupted and slightly startled.

"For the most part," he snapped. "I'm still learning it."

"Oh, okay," Kyle replied, backing up a little. Clearly, Craig's tone had sent the warning he'd intended to convey: step back and shut up.

With a huff, Craig stretched out his fingers again and started to play, the notes flowing like water through his fingers and washing over him; cleansing him of pain and sadness and anger. When he got lost in the music he almost felt purified, quiet and clean and untouchable. For awhile he played until he slipped and hit a sour note, the abruptness of the imperfection immediately filling him with rage. He stopped and just sat for a moment, hating himself for not being able to play one fucking song, for not being able to save -

"Why did you stop? That was beautiful," Kyle spoke up, his voice brimming with a tenderness that made Craig's blood start rushing forward again; a red river pumping life back into his numbed body.

He turned and looked over his shoulder, hating that Kyle's words had almost made him feel better for a moment. How dare he? Craig wasn't allowed to feel anything other than sadness, right? Tweek was fucking **_dead_**.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He seethed. "That was terrible; didn't you notice I fucked up?"

Kyle's eyes trailed over Craig's face, sad but full of an almost painful whimsy.

"No, I didn't," he said. "I was too focused on how fucking talented you are." He cocked an eyebrow. "Nobody's perfect, Craig."

"Spare me your cliches," Craig replied, turning back around; his heart picking up its rhythm in his chest. Like he really needed Kyle of all people to tell him that. He started to play again, taking care to start at the beginning, and this time he made it through the whole song without fucking up once; a fact that helped his world settle back into a pattern he could live with.

Turning around, he wanted to gloat a little bit, but Craig's eyes widened when he saw that Kyle had fallen asleep again; draped across the couch with lanky limbs strewn every which way. Standing, Craig came over to study the slim figure sacked out in his living room like he fucking owned the place.

 _Jesus, does he have fucking narcolepsy or something?_ Craig thought, staring down at him. His eyes fell on the dark shadows marring Kyle's skin again, and for a moment he almost felt guilty. He knew a thing or two about sleepless nights, especially after Tweek's cancer had really taken hold and begun its final ravages. After Craig had seen the aftermath of such a cruel illness he felt like he'd never sleep again, and if he did, the nightmares always came; always.

With a reluctant sigh and splash of irritation, Craig went and grabbed a blanket slung over a wing backed chair. In a decidedly indelicate fashion, he threw it over Kyle's curled up body; running a hand through his own black hair as he wondered how the fuck all of this came to pass in the first place. He went back to the piano and was about to start playing when he thought for a moment, and after contemplating his options Craig gently shifted the una corda pedal so it was in place, making it so the music came out softer.

Glancing over his shoulder, he started to play again, and almost stopped when he saw that Kyle's eyebrows twitched a little; but when his pale face smoothed out again, Craig continued. After a moment, he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, the music pouring into the air in muted tones; washing over the evening as the sun sank below the horizon just beyond the living room windows.

 **Present Day**

"Here," Stan smiled, handing Kyle a mug of coffee. Kyle could see steam curling up from its surface, and the wonderful aroma of cinnamon floated into the air; capturing him. He took it into his hands, relishing the warmth of the mug against his skin.

"Thanks," he said, brushing a stray curl from his eyes. Yellow sunlight sifted through the blinds and across his bed, warming the green comforter. Kyle gazed at Stan and had to fight the urge to reach out and caress his face; a face that was full of love even though he still looked so tired. He pointed at the mug.

"Are you going to have any?" He teased.

Stan stuck out his tongue. "No way, dude. You know I hate coffee. Besides," He rolled his eyes, "Craig made that for you special. I'm pretty sure he'd murder me if I even thought of taking a drink."

Kyle narrowed his eyes at him as he slowly brought the cup to his lips.

"You really need to get over this little mental block you have against Craig, Stan. It's just getting ridiculous at this point." He blew on his coffee, creating tiny currents in its brown surface.

"Right, mental block," Stan replied, leaning against the wall, a spare shaft of sunlight falling across his raven hair and making it gleam richly. "That dude fucking hates me, Kyle. You have to know that."

Kyle blew on his coffee again, determined not to burn his mouth this morning.

"He doesn't hate you. Craig is just," he paused a moment, mulling over available descriptors in his mind, "difficult. He always has been, but once he lets you in, he's soft and fluffy."

Stan just gave Kyle a look of complete disbelief.

"There's nothing soft or fluffy about that guy, dude. There's no way you've never noticed the way he stares me down whenever I come over; you can't possibly be that oblivious."

Kyle shrugged, watching the steam curl upward from the coffee. He still hadn't tasted it.

"Craig is territorial, he always has been," he replied, his eyes drifting over Stan's chest and down to his hands; strong hands that had held him tightly just the night before. The thought made him bite his lip a little; remembering.

"Yeah, but he isn't territorial about the apartment, Kyle," Stan said. "He's territorial about you. Duh."

"Why shouldn't he be? We're friends." Kyle almost took a tiny sip but stopped when he heard that the music out in the living room changed, filling him with pleasure.

"He's playing my favorite," he murmured, sitting up a little straighter. Stan looked toward the door, cocking an ear like a good-natured spaniel.

"What is it?"

"On My Own," Kyle replied, smiling and adoring every note that floated under the door and into his ears. "It's the first song he ever played just for me."

Stan listened for a moment and then reached out a hand, laying it on Kyle's knee.

"Have you even considered moving in with me?" He asked, squeezing a little. "I have plenty of room, and I don't like being apart so much."

Kyle shook his head, Craig's music still arresting his attention.

"I can't," he murmured. "Not yet. I need more time by myself."

"On your own?" Stan asked, smirking a little. "Are you sure you aren't just holding yourself back because of him?" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the piano music, which was beginning to swell and overtake everything.

Kyle gave Stan a dirty look, the cup just a hair's width away from his mouth.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Craig doesn't need me like that. I just need time to continue studying for the actuarial exams; I'm just not there yet, and I need space to think."

"Ugh, those fucking exams are going to be the death of you," Stan replied, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

"Tell me about it," Kyle replied. "Besides, Craig is going to be just fine whether I'm here or not. Every time I visit him at work I see him talking to this same guy." He smiled mischievously. "He's obviously smitten."

"Are you talking about that dark haired guy we saw last night?" Stan asked. "You think Craig is into him?"

Kyle shrugged.

"I wouldn't be surprised. He gets super intense whenever he's talking to him." He grinned. "I know it's creepy, but I like to keep an eye on things whenever I'm there. Just to make sure everything is okay."

Stan squeezed Kyle's knee a little harder, smiling indulgently.

"You're fucking nuts, dude." He pointed at the cup of coffee still languishing in Kyle's hand. "You better drink that before it gets cold, or Craig really will crucify my ass."

"Fine, fine, I'm getting to it," Kyle replied, finally taking a drink. His face lit up with pure pleasure as the coffee poured over his tongue and down his throat; tasting richly of cinnamon and something else he couldn't pinpoint. "Mmm, Craig outdid himself this morning; this is fucking delicious."

Stan watched him drink almost half of the mug before speaking, his face lighting up with a sudden thought.

"Vanilla extract," he said. "That's it, I saw Craig adding it at the end. So, it's good?"

"It's wonderful," Kyle said, almost finished now. His face became fond, his finger catching a wayward drop of coffee as it slid down the side of his cup. He licked it off quickly. "Craig has always been so good to me, Stan. I really couldn't imagine my life without him."

It was after midnight when Craig heard the tap at his door, the sound almost becoming lost in the darkness. Looking over at the clock on his bedside table, he saw that it was a little after 3 am, and the world was plunged in blackness so deep it was almost chilling. The tap came again, crawling through the air and making the hairs on his neck stand up a little.

"What?" He asked softly, his voice a little crackly with sleep. The sound had broken through a nightmare unfolding; cemeteries deluged in rain and a dark haired gentleman with blood red eyes, white hands holding a pumping heart in their palms. "Who is it?"

"It's me," a tiny voice shot through the darkness and residual bad dreams like a golden arrow. Kyle. "Can I come in?"

Craig sat up suddenly, feeling cold sweat seeping down his back and gathering in the too warm bed linens. Kyle very rarely came to his room after they'd both turned in for the night.

"Of course," he called out, sudden worry flooding his mind. He'd been told of Tweek's passing late at night too, and the hours after midnight had always held a certain horror for him since then.

The door cracked open and Craig could hear the whisper of footsteps pass over the floor; every sound etched in his heart as it started to pound harder. Reaching over, he opened the blinds to let the moonlight fall through, and when he looked back at Kyle he saw that he looked afraid; his eyes wide and searching Craig's face.

"I don't feel good," he said, and his voice was almost a whimper. "I feel," he faltered for a moment, worrying the hem of his shirt, "off. I feel off, Craig."

Craig's eyes slid over Kyle's form and he had to fight back a shudder. The redhead was dressed in his typical too large t-shirt and for a moment he could almost imagine him not wearing bottoms, but he knew that Kyle was wearing boxers too. The moonlight splashed over his skin and illuminated him until he resembled a quivering iridescent creature; a rare fish glowing in the ocean's deepest depths.

"You're sick?" Craig asked, concern rushing through him.

Kyle shook his head a little, but his eyes were still filled with a vague, unspoken terror.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't hurt or anything like that, at least not a whole lot. I just don't feel right and I can't sleep." Kyle wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed, his tongue licking over his bottom lip. "Can I, uh," he looked down at the floor, holding himself tighter now. "Can I sleep with you?"

Even in the caustic moonlight Craig could see Kyle's flushing as he wildly tried to explain himself, one nervous hand reaching up to tuck a curl behind his ear.

"I mean, can I sleep in your bed? Please?" He asked, sounding almost like a small child that had awoken in the night and was pleading for his parents to save him from the monsters in his closet.

Craig only had to think for a moment before he was throwing the covers back and beckoning to Kyle. His heart was thudding so swiftly in his chest that he almost thought he was going to pass out, and moisture was building in his mouth to the point that he had to gulp. Every nerve in his body had been ignited as he watched Kyle draw closer, still seeming hesitant.

"Come on," Craig said, patting the empty place beside him. "I have plenty of room." He dropped the volume of his voice, attempting to sound soothing; inviting. "It's okay, Kyle. Get in."

Kyle moved almost to the point where his knees were brushing against Craig's bed, but he still seemed skittish; a small creature afraid of the smell of man.

"Are you sure? I don't want to -"

In a moment, Craig reached out and took hold of Kyle's arm, gently pulling him forward and into the place he'd created for him. Kyle yelped a little but allowed himself to fall into Craig's bed, his body coming to rest against clean, white sheets that had never known his touch before that night. Craig almost moaned at the sight of Kyle's lovely curls splashing over the pillow, his wonderful apple scent obliterating everything else; Craig's cologne, the air freshener on the nightstand, the musk of a lived-in room.

"Stop being weird," Craig murmured, quickly throwing the blanket over Kyle. "Of course you can sleep in here tonight, Kyle; especially if you aren't feeling well."

Kyle snuggled into the covers and sighed a little, the sound immediately hitting Craig like a semi and making his arousal wake up and come to attention.

"It just happened out of nowhere," Kyle said, softly. "I felt fine all day but when I got in bed, I don't know..." he drifted off and turned his head to look into Craig's eyes. "I started feeling so, I don't know, scared? Alone? And it hurts right here," he said, motioning to his chest.

Craig rested a hand under his cheek and thought for a moment. Was this the effect of the concoction he'd put in Kyle's coffee? It had to be, right? His head spun a little; he'd had no idea it would start working so quickly. Never in a million years did he think that he would wake up to Kyle knocking at his door late at night; this whole thing was a goddamn miracle even as his gut churned with fear and guilt. Timidly, he reached out and brushed Kyle's bangs out of his eyes.

"Well, just get some sleep, okay?" He said, nearly coming apart at the feeling of Kyle's soft skin under his fingertips. "I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

"Hmm," Kyle said, shifting onto his side so his back was turned to Craig; the bed covers draped over his slight form and conforming to the elegant curve of his waist. "Thank you," he whispered softly, the fragile sound almost breaking apart like ice in the late night hour.

Craig had to will himself from reaching out and pulling Kyle closer to him, but he was able to refrain, opting instead to grunt and reluctantly shut his eyes against the beautiful sight lying right beside him. After a few pregnant minutes passed, his eyes flew open to see Kyle shifting slowly toward him until he was nestled against Craig's chest and stomach, Kyle's backside dangerously close to his groin.

"Kyle, what are you -"

"Shhh," Kyle murmured, pressing himself against Craig, his warmth bleeding through his thin t shirt and igniting the man behind him; his breath trapped in his chest as his heart pounded a mile a minute. In a moment, Kyle was reaching back and taking Craig's hand and leading it over his side, where it draped against his abdomen. Kyle's slender fingers wound through Craig's and he let out a little breath; finally settling and becoming still.

"There, that's better," he whispered.

Craig was too taken aback to utter even a word, but before too long Kyle's breaths evened out and became deep and restful, and he knew that he'd fallen asleep, there in his arms as the moon rested in the windowpane; the whole world holding its breath along with Craig.


	6. Chapter 6

**Excuse me, guess I've mistaken you for somebody else,**  
 **Somebody who gave a damn,**  
 **Somebody more like myself**  
 **And these foolish games are tearing me,**  
 **Your tearing me, your tearing me apart**  
 **And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart**  
 **You're breaking my heart.**

 **-Foolish Games, Jewel**

* * *

 **10 Years Prior**

There was a tiny knock at the door, so small that Craig thought he was hearing things for a moment; but then it came again, very faint.

"What?" He asked, looking up from Stripe #6's cage.

After a moment, the door slowly opened and Kyle stuck his head in, a tiny, reluctant smile on his lips. Craig just stared at him, slightly surprised but refusing to let it register on his face.

"Good morning," he said, waving a little. "Can I come in?"

Craig stared for another moment, just long enough to make Kyle start to become unnerved, then finally -

"Sure." He turned back to the cage, essentially ignoring Kyle as he heard the door close quietly.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, coming up beside him; Craig had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Wasn't it obvious what he was doing?

"It's Sunday morning," he said, reaching in and removing some of the creature's bedding. Picking up a bag, he threw it away. "I'm cleaning Stripe's cage."

"Oh," Kyle replied, watching closely. "Didn't you used to have two of these things?"

Craig looked at him sharply, his hand tightening on the bag he was holding.

"She has a name," he snapped. "And, yes, I did. But Mocha died."

Kyle recoiled a little, his face turning a bright red.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't know."

"Hmph," Craig said, setting the garbage bag down. He ripped open a bag of Aspen shavings and spread them across the bottom of the cage; starting to feel a little annoyed at Kyle's close watch. He turned to him abruptly.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

Kyle held up a bag and a cup, his face still flushed.

"I thought you might want some breakfast, so I picked up some donuts and coffee." He smiled, the gesture a little strained; no doubt because Craig continued to stare at him like he had two heads.

"I don't really like a whole lot of sugar," Craig said, eyeing the bag; then flicked his focus to the cup of coffee. He scowled a little. "And I don't drink coffee." In fact, he couldn't stand looking at the cup, the Tweak Brothers logo prominent on the side; what was Kyle even thinking?

Kyle followed Craig's gaze and then blushed even more furiously when he saw the logo on the cup. Quickly, he pulled the cup close to himself, trying to cover it by turning the coffee in his hand.

"I'm s-sorry," he said. "I wasn't trying to -"

Suddenly, he stopped and bit his lip, and Craig was surprised to see it trembling a little. In a moment, he was horrified to see moisture collecting in Kyle's green eyes, and for the first time in a long while, he actually had an attack of conscience. Making sure to keep his face smooth, he quickly finished spreading out Stripe's bedding, and then turned back to Kyle. In a quick movement, he reached out and took the bag before Kyle could react.

"What -" Kyle started to say, but Craig cut him off; his voice curt.

"I'm actually pretty hungry," he said, opening the bag and looking inside. He pulled out a doughnut covered in pink frosting and multicolored sprinkles. "So, I can have this?"

Kyle nodded his head slowly, and Craig suddenly noticed that his heartbeat had picked up, but now it was slowing to see the tears receding from the redhead's eyes. What the fuck was going on right now?

They both sat on Craig's bed as the early morning sunshine flooded the room. The window was open and a early November breeze was filtering in, bringing the aroma of wood smoke burning in distant fireplaces. Craig took a huge bite of his doughnut, trying to get used to so much sugar first thing in the morning. Normally he had buttered toast, but he hadn't yet been down to the kitchen to eat so he hadn't been lying when he said that he was hungry. He watched Kyle sip the coffee slowly out of the corner of his eye; almost cracking a smile when he saw him grimace a little.

"Just because I was with Tweek doesn't mean I ever picked up his caffeine habit," he said suddenly, making Kyle jump a little. "Besides, my parents said 13 is too young for any kid to drink coffee." He took another bite of the pastry and shrugged. "Tweek was just the exception, I guess."

Kyle took another sip of coffee and winced a little. He nodded his head as he swallowed.

"I mean, it's not bad," he said. "It just takes a little getting used to, I guess."

Craig cocked an eyebrow, the smell of the coffee wafting over to him.

"What kind is it?"

Kyle thought a moment, tapping the top of the cup with his finger.

"Cinnamon," he replied. "Maybe I didn't make it right? I had them add almond milk and I used Splenda."

Craig wrinkled his nose.

"Almond milk and splenda? Why didn't you use cream and sugar?"

Now it was Kyle's turn to get a little snippy.

"Well, I'm diabetic and Splenda doesn't fuck with my blood sugar, and I like almond milk. It tastes good," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, have you ever even tried it?"

Craig finished off the doughnut and licked his fingers, clearing them of residual pink frosting.

"No, I haven't." He focused on the cup and reached out a hand. "Let me try it."

Kyle pulled the cup back a little, both eyebrows raised now.

"But you said -"

"Forget what I said," Craig said. "Hand it over."

"Okay, but hold on a second; I'll wipe off -"

"Jesus Christ, Broflovski," Craig said, rolling his eyes. In a moment, he'd snatched the cup out of Kyle's hand and had taken a drink, letting the cinnamon-flavored coffee wash over his tongue. He smacked his lips a little, considering its flavor.

"It's not bad," he said, handing the cup back to a shocked Kyle. "It'd be better with cream and sugar, though."

"I'm so sure," Kyle replied, staring at Craig with newly flushed cheeks. "I can't believe you just did that."

"What?"

"You just drank after me, you didn't even wipe off the cup first."

Craig just gave him a deadpan look.

"You seriously need to lighten up. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes and took an angry sip of coffee; then, realizing what he did, yanked the cup away and quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Huffing, he looked away.

"You know, I'm trying to be nice right now but you make it really fucking hard, Craig." He snapped his attention back to him. "You realize that, right?"

Craig shrugged, refusing to become emotionally involved over something so inconsequential. Kyle had been foisting his company on him for the past several weeks; bringing him his homework and lingering to listen to Craig play the piano. Christ, he even stuck around when he was just reading or listening to music and looking out the window. It was about time they had this fucking conversation.

"I didn't ask you to be nice to me," he said. "In fact, I haven't asked for anything from you. You're the one that started coming over here even though no one invited you."

Kyle physically recoiled at Craig's words, and he stared down at his coffee cup; which he now had in a stranglehold in both of his hands. Taking a deep breath, he started to speak.

"I just thought -" he broke off, wiping his mouth again. Looking away, he lapsed into a deeper silence; the sounds of cars passing by outside filling the cracks in the room. "I thought -" he started again, but stopped.

Craig waited, a myriad of emotions coursing through him that he couldn't piece together. He and Kyle had never been close; in fact, he couldn't even consider them friends. If anything, they were acquaintances and that was stretching it, so he had no earthly idea why Kyle was suddenly trying to insert himself into his life. The crazy thing was that Craig also couldn't explain why he was starting to feel kind of comfortable with it; almost looking forward to the redhead's visits, and hating himself for feeling that way. He felt guilty looking forward to anything nowadays; it just didn't seem fair.

"Well?" He asked, his voice cutting through the tension between them like a saw blade.

Kyle finally looked up from his cup and Craig saw that the tears were back, but now they were beginning to pour over and fall down his cheeks. His heartbeat accelerated again; a fact which annoyed and alarmed him to no end.

"I just thought you could use a friend," Kyle said, softly. "I noticed how sad you were while Tweek was sick, and when he finally..." he shuddered and caught his breath, looking down at the cup again. "I just didn't want you to feel like you were alone."

Craig's eyes widened at Kyle's words, and he couldn't help feeling taken aback. He had no idea that anyone was paying that much attention to his descent as Tweek suffered and finally left him alone; leaving the earthly plane for God knows where. It wasn't like he was the type of person to make a big display of his emotions; in fact, he was pretty sure that most people thought he didn't even have any to begin with. A shard of tenderness invaded his heart for a moment, and he couldn't help but angrily push it away.

"That's pretty presumptuous of you, isn't it?" He asked, standing up and throwing the Tweak Brother's bag in the trash. "I don't know why you'd even care. It's not like we're friends."

"I-I know that, Craig," Kyle replied, his voice almost a whisper behind him. "But there isn't any reason why we couldn't be. I miss Tweek, too."

Craig turned to him, his face fixed back into its usual stoic setting.

"If you're trying to alleviate your own guilt or something," he began, his voice on the verge of trembling but not quite there. "Then you're looking for help in the wrong place. I can barely handle my own shit, okay? Don't saddle me with your baggage too."

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" Kyle yelled, standing up as well. "I just thought we could fucking lean on each other! God, why are you always like this?! You make it almost impossible to get to know you!"

Craig actually managed to smirk at those words.

"Seriously? You're asking me why I am the way I am?" He stepped closer to Kyle, satisfied to see him back away slightly. "A better question is, why are you the way you are? You always act like you have to save everyone, Kyle. Maybe some people don't want to deal with your fucking messiah complex; did you ever think of that?"

More tears fell down Kyle's face as he considered what Craig said, and then the completely inexplicable occurred; a smile was sliding across his face. Now Craig couldn't help but show his surprise.

"What the f-" Craig broke off, running a hand through his unruly hair; he needed a fucking haircut. "What are you smiling about, you psycho? I just fucking insulted you!"

Kyle just continued to smile through his tears, his face taking on a mischievous quality now. Craig's pulse was racing just at the sight of it, though he couldn't of said why.

"This is the longest conversation we've ever had. Did you realize that?" Kyle asked, emerald eyes glimmering. "I think we've made a breakthrough, Craig."

Now Craig was running both of his hands through his hair, a groan escaping from his lips. This kid was fucking nuts, no doubt about it. Sighing, he stared down at Kyle, and now he could see how truly diminutive he was; just like -

"You're insane," he said, simply, refusing to even let his mind go there. "I can't even talk to you right now."

"And yet, here you are; talking to me," Kyle said, grinning. He brought the coffee cup back to his lips and took a long sip. "You know, this stuff isn't half bad when you get used to it."

Craig rolled his eyes to the ceiling, a realization clicking into place. Swiftly, he reached out and swiped the cup from Kyle's hand, eliciting a yelp of protest. Shaking it, he noticed that the cup was almost empty.

"Jesus, how did you drink that so fast?"

Kyle shrugged. "It grows on you." His attention strayed to Stripe's cage. "Hey, can I hold him for a second?"

"Stripe is a girl and no, you can't," Craig said, setting the cup down and following Kyle to the cage. "God, you drink just a tiny bit of caffeine and you're like a goddamn hummingbird now."

Kyle looked up at him with a pleading look, his cheeks flushed; making his freckles stand out against his cheekbones. Craig kicked himself for even noticing them.

"Please, Craig? I won't hurt him; I promise," Kyle pleaded.

"Christ, I just told you Stripe's a girl!"

"Fine, can I hold her? Come on, please?"

Craig threw his hands up, finally to the point where he couldn't pretend to not be irritated. Abruptly, he reached out, unlocked the cage and lifted out the guinea pig. Gently, he placed Stripe in Kyle's waiting hands; rolling his eyes at his excited face. Fighting a wave of apprehension, he stepped back and watched Stripe settle into Kyle's arms without even a squeak of protest.

"Hmm, at least someone in this room likes you," he quipped, crossing his arms.

"You think so?" Kyle asked, his eyes shining. Craig rolled his eyes again; how could someone so academically gifted be so fucking dense?

"Sure, why not?" He asked, taking a deep breath and sitting on the bed; watching the bizarre spectacle unfold.

Kyle hugged the Guinea pig close. "I wish I could have a pet," he said. "But my mom won't let me."

"Big surprise," Craig replied.

"It'd be nice to be able to take care of something," Kyle said, petting Stripe's fur.

Craig regarded him for a moment; the offhand comment springing to his attention.

"Is that why you're always butting into other people's business?" He asked. "So you can have someone to look after?"

Kyle shrugged. "Maybe. I never really thought about it."

"Hmm," Craig said, keeping his focus on Kyle so he could step in and rescue Stripe if need be.

Kyle snorted. "You think you have everything figured out, don't you?" He asked, stepping forward and placing Stripe back in her cage. "But I have news for you."

Craig quirked an eyebrow, not even willing to dignify what Kyle was saying with an actual response.

"I'll make you like me," Kyle said, nodding knowingly. He locked the cage with a satisfying snap and looked over at Craig, who just looked away in annoyance.

"Whatever."

"We'll see, won't we?" Kyle asked, sitting beside him and kicking his legs. "So, when are you coming back to school? It's been a long fucking time, dude."

"Tomorrow," Craig replied, faintly. Just the thought of going back to school and seeing Tweek's empty desk was enough to make his heart drop into his stomach; not to mention being surrounded by so many people again. A feeling of anxiety coursed through him but he fought it down.

"Great!" Kyle smiled, the look of genuine happiness passing over his face disarming Craig further; causing him to look away. "We can eat lunch together."

"I'll pass," Craig said, sharply. Kyle was really getting ahead of himself; time to put the kibosh on his ridiculous flights of fancy. "I'm going to either sit by myself or with Clyde and the guys." He glanced over to see Kyle looking totally dejected, one of his hands worrying at the hem of his coat. He huffed and brought a hand to his forehead in defeat. "But you can join us if you want to. I guess. Whatever."

"I might just do that," Kyle said, the big grin plastered across his face again.

"I was right," Craig said, standing up. "You really are nuts. I'm gonna go practice." He started for the door, not bothering to turn around while waving a hand in the air. "You can leave or you can stay; makes no difference to me."

Craig made his way to the piano in the living room, assuring himself the whole way that he wasn't listening for Kyle's telltale steps behind him, nor was he waiting for him to ask him what he was going to play. Cracking his fingers, he opened the lid and played his usual warmup scales until Kyle wandered over and picked up a new book of music he'd gotten from his mom just the week before. Opening it, Kyle perused the pages; the cover of the book illuminated in the light coming through the window: Les Miserables.

"Can you play this one for me?" He asked, suddenly. He showed the page to Craig, who read the title of the song and then glanced up at him.

"On My Own?"

Kyle nodded his head. "It was my favorite when my family saw the show in Denver."

Craig reached out and took the book, setting it back down on the bench with a thump.

"I'm working on another piece right now."

"Oh, okay," Kyle said, backing away. "Maybe next time, huh?"

"Don't count on it," Craig replied, going back to playing scales.

They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon in a companionable enough silence; Craig practicing and becoming lost in the music while Kyle lay on the couch and listened. After awhile, Craig turned and saw that, once again, Kyle had fallen asleep; his hands curled up around his face and his garish curls standing out against the white upholstery of the couch. With a sigh, Craig threw the usual blanket over top of him and studied the violet shadows under Kyle's eyes; his mouth pressed into a straight line.

 _I guess he's still not sleeping very well,_ he thought; then chastised himself for even remembering these sorts of details.

That night, after dinner, Craig found himself traipsing back into the living room for seemingly no reason at all; his eyes falling on the music book still sitting on the piano bench. He looked at it for a moment, the lamplight splashing over the cover and lighting up the silver letters. Reaching down, he plucked it up and leafed through the pages, completely uninterested in its contents.

 _I didn't even like this fucking musical,_ he thought, scanning the music.

That was a lie, of course; he'd actually really liked Les Miserables, and so had Tweek when they'd seen it together. It was just difficult listening to it when he was gone. Sometimes it felt like everything good in his life had died along with Tweek, one frosty autumn night just over a month and a half before. Chewing his bottom lip, he stopped on a page and studied the notes in the golden light of the lamp; his fingers skimming over the music. After a moment, he sat down at the piano and started to play, his heart managing to break and begin tentatively repairing itself at the same time; as crazy as that was.

 **Present Day**

Waking up the next morning, Craig curled into the wonderful apple scent that met his nose as soon as he stirred. Before even opening his eyes, he reached out to grab a hold of -

Nothing.

Blinking his eyes wide and hissing at the sunlight pouring through the windows, Craig saw that he had woken up alone; the place next to him undisturbed like Kyle had never been there in the first place. For a moment, he thought that everything had been a dream, but his good sense told him otherwise. No, Kyle had been there beside him; had come to Craig's room after 3 am, worrying his shirt and his eyes filled with a secret, sleepy terror.

Craig lay against his pillow and stared at the ceiling, feeling the loss of Kyle from his bed like a bullet wound to the chest. Was he stupid for reading into the gesture? Was it really the work of Damien's concoction? He was hoping that the signs of it beginning to work would be a little more cut and dry, but life was never like that, it would seem. Not when it came to shit like this.

 _God, fuck emotions,_ he thought. _They're nothing but trouble._

His ears perked up at the sound of voices out in the kitchen, and for a moment Craig just listened; Kyle's shrill but cute voice cutting through the quiet apartment, and then his teeth gritted at the voice accompanying him. Stan. Just fucking great. Craig groaned and rolled out of bed, pulling on his slippers and robe; this was not his idea of a relaxing Sunday morning.

Walking out into the kitchen Craig was assaulted with the image of Stan's arms wrapped around Kyle's waist, his lips resting on his neck as Kyle giggled and tried to break away. Fighting down his rage, Craig went to the fridge and angrily yanked it open, searching for orange juice and a sawed-off shotgun; he had two thirsts that needed to be quenched that morning, it would seem. Finding only the juice, he pulled it out with a scowl, slamming the fridge behind him while Kyle and Stan watched. Suddenly, Kyle came forward and put his hand on Craig's shoulder, almost making him drop the bottle he was carrying.

"I picked up breakfast for you," he announced chirpily. Reaching over, he plucked a Panera bag from the counter; Tweak Brothers products having been banned from the household for obvious reasons. "See? An everything bagel with chive and onion cream cheese, and -" He opened the microwave where a cup was waiting. "A chai tea latte." He handed them to Craig with a smile.

"Thanks," Craig said, his heart melting even as he tried to covertly stare daggers at Stan.

"Hey, you're lucky, man," Stan said, rubbing his neck; a gesture he adopted every time he seemed to be in Craig's presence; fucking nervous asshole. "All Kyle got me was a doughnut and chocolate milk."

Kyle pushed him a little. "Craig doesn't like really sweet stuff in the morning. Besides, can he help it if he's more sophisticated than you?"

"Oh, is that so?" Stan asked, poking Kyle in the side and making him giggle again. "Huh? Huh?" He said, continuing to jab at him. Craig just watched this bullshit display for a moment before turning on his heel, heading for the living room.

 _Get me the fuck out of here,_ he thought. Plopping on the couch, he took a sip of his latte and grimaced when he burned his tongue.

"Ha, I knew you did that, too," Kyle said, sitting down next to him; Stan coming to sit on the easy chair right next to Kyle.

"When did you wake up?" Craig asked, splitting the bagel open and reaching for the cream cheese. "I'm not used to you being up before me."

"Gosh, let me think," Kyle said, glancing at Stan who shrugged. Craig scowled. Kyle hadn't even slept next to the motherfucker last night and he was still deferring to him. "Well, I had a really hard time sleeping for the most part, so...7 or so? I just felt really restless."

"Hmm, you didn't seem that restless to me after you came to my room," Craig remarked, spreading cream cheese across his bagel, his sharp eyes coming to rest on Stan who looked confused.

Kyle widened his eyes at Craig and then glanced at Stan, looking a little sheepish.

"I kind of bothered Craig last night," he said, softly. "I felt weird after I went to bed; I couldn't sleep at all."

"Oh," Stan said, looking a little shaken but he quickly brushed it off. He reached out and took a hold of Kyle's hand. "Are you feeling better today?"

Kyle nodded his head. "Yeah, I feel a lot better." He glanced at Craig, his face apologetic. "I'm sorry for waking you up so late, by the way."

Craig held up a hand, slightly elated that Kyle hadn't told Stan about crawling into his bed; this detail leading him to believe there was more to it than simply feeling unwell. At least, that's what he wanted to believe.

"Don't apologize," he said, taking a bite of his bagel. "I didn't mind at all." He glanced at Stan and narrowed his eyes so minutely he knew he couldn't possibly catch on. "Not in the slightest."

Was that a tiny blue flash he saw in Stan's eyes? Craig looked again, closer. Nope, he had the same old whipped hound dog look that he always had. Idiot.

Kyle smiled and pulled Stan's hand to his face, kissing his knuckles lightly; the gesture made Craig feel vaguely ill but he hid it, just like everything else.

"We were thinking of going hiking today," he said. "You know, before the season gets too cold. Would you like to come along?"

Craig took another bite of bagel and shook his head. "Can't. I have to work today."

Kyle's face fell, causing a twinge of excitement to course through Craig's heart.

"Oh, that sucks, dude. So, I won't see you until tomorrow evening, I guess."

"What?" Craig asked, coughing after a piece of food traveled down the wrong pipe. Kyle watched him with a worried face until the coughs subsided.

"Yeah, I'm spending the night at Stan's place tonight," he said, and then he brightened. "Hey, maybe we could stop by your work after we go hiking? Are you going to play tonight?"

"Probably," Craig replied, sitting back and feeling dejected. Stan looked at him with what could almost be considered a look of pity but then he decided he was reading into it too much; besides, fuck that guy.

"Great, we'll see you then," Kyle said, enthusiastically standing up and pulling Stan along with him. "Let's get dressed and go, okay?"

"Sure," Stan said, holding onto Kyle's hand far too tightly. He flicked his eyes back to Craig, who just stared at him; his face impassive and unbreakable. "See you around, dude."

"Right." Craig watched them walk away down the hall until he heard the door closing. Setting his breakfast aside, he looked out the window where the world was slowing coming to life; hating every ray of sunshine and patch of blue sky. This was the type of day to spend outside with someone you loved. It certainly wasn't the kind of day where you woke up in your bed completely alone; your arms empty and cold.

Craig made sure to leave the apartment long before his shift at the bar started; he had some unfinished business to attend to, numerous questions that needed answers. He didn't even need to glance at Damien's business card anymore; he knew exactly where he was going, and before too long he'd parked and was taking the elevator to the top floor of the highest building in town.

Once again, he found himself in that opulent office, but as before, he had to wait for admittance. Craig sat in one of the plush waiting room chairs, the fabric stained a deep scarlet much like the carpet in Damien's office. Glancing at the receptionist's desk he noticed that a different person than usual was sitting there, a young blond-haired boy that was very similar to Craig's toe-headed angel. His eyes widened in shock when he realized who it was, and he came over to the desk to get a better look to be sure.

"Pip?" He asked, drawing closer. He couldn't fucking believe it. "Dude, I thought you were -"

"Dead?" Pip asked, looking up. A pink flush stained his cheeks, and for a moment Craig felt like the years were just melting away because he looked so young. "Oh, I died, of course, but Damien has his ways, I suppose. Doesn't he?" He smiled, his eyes closing for a moment.

"I, uh," Craig stammered. Just what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

Before he could speak, the phone on Pip's desk rang and he picked it up, listened for a moment, and then hung up, softly.

"Damien will see you now," he said, standing. "Right this way."

Craig followed Pip into Damien's office, though he was coming to think of it as more of a lair at this point; his cherry desk sitting in the same place among a sea of scarlet carpet. The only difference was that it wasn't nighttime, and the giant windows that lined the walls were glowing like fiery gems; the result of the late afternoon sun pouring through with a vengeance. In fact, the glare was so strong that Craig had to cover his face, his eyes squinting almost closed.

"Pip, draw the blinds," Damien said, his tone soft. Immediately, Pip went around the room and covered the windows, effectively shutting out the sun. Damien looked at Craig and smiled, one canine drifting over his bottom lip. "Better?"

Craig nodded, his hands already beginning to clench at his sides. Being here always put him on edge.

Damien walked around his massive desk and sat on it, his posture casual but still so elegant; Craig could barely believe how fluidly he moved, almost like he was nothing but vapor.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this impromptu visit?" Damien asked, brushing some sleek black hair out of his eyes.

Craig had to fight down his raw and jangled nerves, but he forced himself to speak.

"I gave that stuff to him. Yesterday morning."

"Oh?" Damien asked, looking pleased. "I had a feeling you did."

Silence fell over the room while Craig waited for him to continue. When he didn't, he looked at Pip who had come to stand just out of arms' reach of Damien on his right hand side.

"So?" Craig finally said. "Nothing fucking happened!"

Damien smirked. "Is that so? Absolutely nothing?" He eyed him, closely; scarlet lights dancing in those dark irises.

"Well," Craig replied, his mouth going dry; his eyes snaking their way over to Pip's, who just regarded him with a blank expression. "I mean, he did come to my room late last night, and -"

"And I take it that's never happened before," Damien said, shrewdly. "Right?"

"No, never, but -"

"So, why are you here, then?" Damien asked. Reaching out, he took a hold of Pip's arm and pulled him close. Without a word, he allowed himself to be drawn to Damien's side, his face still expressionless; a lax doll's visage. "Kneel," Damien commanded, softly. Pip immediately complied.

"I just thought that there would be more than that," Craig said, watching as Damien rested a hand on Pip's head and rubbed through his bright blonde hair. Pip nuzzled into his touch and rested his head against Damien's leg, his eyes closing for a moment. Just the sight was enough to make Craig feel slightly queasy.

Damien watched him, his smile growing as he stroked Pip's hair.

"What, did you think you'd have this overnight?" He asked, gesturing at Pip. "Nothing in life is ever that simple, Craig; you know that. True love takes time."

"That isn't love," Craig said, pointing at Pip. "I don't know what the fuck that is, but it sure as hell isn't love."

Damien shrugged. "Love is different things to different people. Isn't that right, my darling?" In a flash, he had a handful of Pip's hair and he was yanking his head back, making him cry out a little. "Tell him, baby."

Pip nodded his head, never taking his dazed blue eyes from Damien's face. "Yes, sir."

Damien loosened his grip on Pip's hair and caressed his face, softly. After a moment, he looked back up at Craig and his eyes were smoldering fires, making him take a small step back in alarm.

"It's a slow process, but it's begun, hasn't it? You had him in your bed, didn't you? I'd say that's a huge step forward." He continued to stroke Pip's face, and Craig couldn't help but notice how deadened his countenance was; everything about the boy was static.

"Is that what Kyle is going to turn into?" Craig asked, his voice trembling slightly. Immediately, he snapped at himself to get his shit together.

"Is that how you want him to be?" Damien asked, letting go of Pip. Pip whined a little and pushed his face into Damien's leg, begging for attention.

Craig watched the boy for a moment, complete disgust rising in his stomach.

"No! Of course not!"

Damien shrugged. "The potion will follow what's in your heart, Craig. I already told you that. Whatever you want, will happen; you have complete control of this situation." Softly, his hands came to rest on the button of his pants, and Pip suddenly sat up, at attention and excited like a trained dog.

"W-what are you doing?" Craig asked, watching as Damien languidly unbuttoned himself.

"Oh, I thought our little, pointless meeting was over," Damien replied, unzipping himself now. "Unless you wanted to stay for the floor show?" Pip was reaching up to help Damien now, a faint trail of saliva drifting from the corner of his mouth.

Nausea crawled up Craig's throat at the horrible display unfolding before him, and suddenly he was backing way, his hand over his mouth. Damien just started to laugh.

"That's what I thought," he said, as Craig turned and started to run from the room. "Oh, and Craig?" He called, before he could exit the office completely. Craig turned, his hand shaking on the doorknob.

Damien smirked as he threaded his hand through Pip's hair again and yanking his head closer to his groin.

"In the future, I would appreciate it if you'd call before dropping by." He gestured at Pip. "I'd hate for you to walk in on something that might make you uncomfortable."

Craig didn't answer; instead, he ripped the door open and ran out of the office, Damien's cackling following him all the way to the elevator.

That night, Craig could barely focus on anything at work and he ended up breaking two glasses before a server came over to relieve him. Off to the side, through the dim lighting, he could see Kyle sitting with Stan, talking and laughing, and his stomach clenched up so painfully that Craig almost doubled over. Throwing his apron down, he stalked over to the piano while trying to fight away memories of Pip kneeling before Damien, his gasping mouth ready and waiting to service his master. Craig couldn't help but think of Kyle in the same position for a brief moment, but then he frantically pushed the image away; how could he ever think of him that way? Is that what he wanted?

Sitting down at the piano, he cracked his fingers and started to play, every note an arrow meant to pierce Kyle's heart directly; the words burning in Craig's mind and setting his blood on fire:

 _Well in case you failed to notice,_  
 _In case you failed to see,_  
 _This is my heart bleeding before you,_  
 _This is me down on my knees_  
 _And these foolish games are tearing me apart,_  
 _And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart_  
 _You're breaking my heart._

It was after the witching hour when Craig was once again broken from a tempest-tossed dream, no a nightmare, really; a tiny tap at the door fading away into the darkness. This time, the door opened before Craig could call out, and the same feather-light footsteps were passing over the floor until they stopped right beside the bed. His heart was beating violently in his chest, and once again sweat was pouring over his body, saturating his sheets. A faint musk emanated from Craig's body and he shuddered when it reached his nose; it was the smell of deep fear laced with excitement.

"Kyle?" He whispered into the blackness. He hadn't had time to open the blinds or turn on a light, and the room was plunged into a darkness so deep he almost felt like he'd gone blind. "Is that you?"

A soft voice hushed him, and then a gentle finger was being laid across Craig's lips. The beautiful scent of apples and spice filled up his senses, along with something else...something indescribable and wild, like sun-drenched forests and oceans roaring against crumbling cliffs; a world of scents all in one. Breathing it in, Craig suddenly felt loose and intoxicated as he felt the mattress lowering beside him as new weight was added.

"I couldn't sleep," Kyle's fragile voice broke through the air, seeping into Craig's ears, his skin, his very blood; he shuddered at the sound. It almost sounded like the very essence of nighttime. "I left Stan's place because I just couldn't settle down. I-I don't know, I just felt like I needed to be somewhere else."

Craig reached over and illuminated a tiny night light on his bedside table. The faint silvery light washed over Kyle and made his pupils dilate, becoming black pinpoints in a sea of forest green. For a moment, Craig thought he saw red threads stitched through his irises but the thought dropped from his mind as soon as Kyle reached up and caressed his face; his eyes pleading.

"Can I stay here?" He asked, searching Craig's face. "Please?"

"Yes, please stay," Craig replied, his voice vulnerable in the face of the late night hour and the look in Kyle's eyes. "Here," he said, laying back down and throwing back the covers. In a bold movement, he opened his arms to Kyle, beckoning him closer. "Come on."

Kyle studied him for a moment, his head cocked to the side and a questioning look flitting across his face quickly. Slowly, he reached over to the bedside table and doused the light, plunging Craig's room back into darkness. Craig waited, his heart pounding in his chest almost making him sick, until he felt Kyle's slight body pressing down into his open arms, his soft hair brushing against Craig's face, almost making him swoon. Hardly believing this turn of events, Craig almost gasped when he felt Kyle turn his head and soft lips were being pressed against his throat; lingering over his racing pulse.

"Thank you," Kyle murmured, settling back against him and snuggling close. "Good night, Craig."


	7. Chapter 7

**I put a spell on you**  
 **Because you're mine  
You know I love you**  
 **I love you**  
 **I love you**  
 **I love you anyhow**  
 **And I don't care if you don't want me**  
 **I'm yours right now**

 **-I Put a Spell on You, Annie Lennox**

* * *

 **10 Years Prior**

The fucking cafeteria was too big, too loud, too everything; he couldn't stand being trapped in a crowd of restless, clamoring bodies. Craig just wanted to escape, but he maintained his facade, cool and calm; absolutely collected and unruffled. Really, it was his only defense when it came to trying situations.

He sat down at the table before everyone else, having brought his lunch in a sad, brown paper bag. Opening it, he pulled out a red apple, a sandwich, and some chips. The only thing that was missing was -

"Here, I got you a coke," Kyle said, sitting down across from him and plunking a can in front of Craig; the red sides frosted and slicked with moisture. "It's what you usually drink, right?"

Craig stared at the can, one eyebrow cocked. Kyle had barely given him a chance to get acclimated to being back at school before he started in with his cloying, weird shit.

"Why do you know that?" He asked. "There's seriously no reason for you to know what soda I drink with my lunch."

Kyle shrugged. "I asked around; sue me." He set down a can of diet coke and a bag of pretzels, but that was all.

Craig took a careful bite of his apple and grimaced, the mealy texture kind of grossing him out. He watched as Kyle dug into his pretzels, taking delicate, little bites. A sudden feeling of curiosity surged through him that irritated his already stressed out frame of mind. Annoyed, he tried to shove it away but with every bite Kyle took it grew until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Why are you just eating fucking pretzels?" He asked, slamming the apple down. Fucking Red Delicious apple with its disgusting, soft texture; his mom should know by now that he hated them with a passion.

Kyle stared at him, another pretzel poised in his spindly fingers.

"I'm sorry, is my lunch bothering you or something?"

Craig reached out and grabbed the coke, opening it with a solid snap.

"You call that lunch?" He asked, an edge in his voice that he hated. "No wonder you're so fucking skinny."

"You're one to talk," Kyle scoffed, his green eyes floating over Craig. "You're almost as skinny as I am, you know."

For a moment, Craig couldn't help but feel just a little bit warmer, knowing that gaze was settled on him; studying him. He took a sip of soda, overlooking the surge of heat crawling up his neck.

"I've got like half a foot on you," he replied, tilting his head snootily. "Besides, I'm thin, not skinny."

"I'm not going to argue semantics with you, beanpole," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes. With a defiant grin, he bit into another pretzel, making sure to chew as loudly as possible; the crunching noise grating on Craig's last, frazzled nerve.

"You're impossible," he snapped, picking up his sandwich.

Kyle was getting ready to snap back when a wave of people appeared; Clyde and Token taking the seats on either side of Craig, and Jimmy and Stan sitting next to Kyle. Craig's stomach clenched with anxiety at suddenly being surrounded by so many people, and for a moment he yearned desperately for his quiet room and his piano. He drifted for a moment, his fingers tapping out the rhythm to the song he'd been obsessively playing since the night before; the song book for Les Miserables flashing through his mind.

"Hey, are you okay?" Clyde suddenly asked, his voice soft. He looked at Craig with an expression that he was starting to despise beyond all reason: the look of abject pity and concern; like he was going to fucking fly apart at any second.

"I'm fine," he said, his tone clipped. God, he was so tired of saying that. People didn't want to hear the truth, anyway; how often did perfect strangers ask each other how they were, just to say they were fine even though it was a goddamn lie? Craig was so sick and tired of the farce.

Glancing up, Craig saw that Kyle was watching him, his eyes steady and devoid of that look that he hated so much. They were clear and smooth as sea water, lacking pretense or sympathy; if anything, they almost had the power to tear him to shreds because they were so damn honest. He looked away quickly, suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortable and just so overwhelmed he could barely breathe. Craig's eyes met Stan's instead, and their summer sky blueness disarmed him, too; they were so kind when they had no reason to be. He shifted his gaze swiftly and for whatever reason he noticed that Kyle and Stan were sitting so close that their shoulders were brushing; this tiny detail making his heart rate increase even though he couldn't possibly care less about them, about anything.

 _I must be losing my fucking mind,_ Craig thought, his usually rational thoughts becoming loud and screeching at him to retreat and hide. He willed himself to calm down, his hands clenched on his sandwich until the bread was pressed flat between his fingertips. Honestly, he had no idea why he was losing his shit the way he was; it wasn't like Tweek hadn't been out of school for months before he died. Craig had eventually gotten used to sitting at the lunch table without him and walking the halls they'd once meandered together completely alone. But still, before he passed, Craig could at least cling to the idea that there was still hope that he'd be okay, but now...now...

"'Sup, fags?" Cartman said, throwing his fully-stocked tray down on the table next to Jimmy; his voice cutting through Craig's internal freak-out with a savage efficiency. He fell into a chair and sighed, his cruel eyes coming to settle on Craig before a smirk tore across his face. "So, you're finally back, huh?"

Craig gritted his teeth, the bite of sandwich in his mouth turning to sawdust as he listlessly chewed. Slowly, he set the tattered bread and salami down, his appetite completely gone. Trying to maintain some sort of dignity, he stared back at Cartman but refused to show any emotion; keeping his face completely unperturbed. He'd never liked this raging, fat asshole and everyone knew it; he wasn't going to start playing nice now.

"No, I'm still at home, dickhead," he replied, his voice flat and emotionless, the way it was supposed to be. Everyone at the table seemed to take a deep breath at the same time, waiting for the shitstorm to begin.

Cartman picked up a slice of pizza and took a big, sloppy bite; wayward strings of cheese dangling off of his chin and making Craig feel nauseous. He narrowed his eyes and chewed slowly, continuing to study Craig.

"I'm not surprised you milked Tweek dying for all it was worth," he said, taking another bite, tomato sauce clinging to his lips. "I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. Good for you, Tucker."

Craig continued to stare at Cartman, the anger pooling deep in his belly and rising with every second that passed; his entire being aching to wipe that smug, disgusting look off of his face. Placing his hands on his knees under the table, he clenched his fingers into shaking fists.

 _Control,_ he chanted to himself. _Must maintain control._

"Don't get any weird ideas, though," Cartman continued, polishing off the piece of pizza with one nauseating gulp. "Just because you're single now doesn't mean you can put the moves on me. I seriously do not swing that way." He looked around the table at the others, who were becoming progressively more uncomfortable; fidgeting in their seats and refusing to look one another in the eye. "Watch your asses, you guys."

"That's enough, Cartman!" Kyle yelled, slamming his fist down on the table and making everyone jump; his angry voice a hot lance slicing through the tension that had gathered. "Why don't you shut the fuck up and leave Craig alone?! Nobody wanted you to sit here anyway!"

Cartman just laughed derisively and looked at Craig; his brown eyes full of malice.

"Oh, so now you have the Jew fighting your battles for you, Craig? What a fucking pussy...what, did Tweek take your backbone with him when he croaked?"

Everyone gasped when Cartman said that, knowing that he had gone too far; just like always. Kyle stood and strode over to him, grabbing onto his shoulder and whirling him around.

"Kyle, what the -"

Kyle cut him off with a right cross, his small fist sliding through the air and connecting with Cartman's cheekbone; the sound of skin on skin reverberating all around the table. After a moment, Cartman started howling and cursing Kyle out, his fat hand coming to rest on his quickly swelling face.

"I can't believe you just fucking hit me, you goddamn -"

"Shut the fuck up," Kyle seethed, taking hold of the front of Cartman's coat and pulling him up toward his face. "If you don't, I swear to god, I will fucking end you. Do you understand?" He shook him like a rag doll, a streak of blood snaking its way out of the corner of Cartman's mouth. "Don't you have any fucking decency at all? Huh?" He seethed as he continued to shake Cartman viciously; his head snapping around every which way.

Clearly uneasy, Stan rose from his chair and went over to Kyle, where he laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him, his voice soft and placating.

"Kyle, dude, let him go, okay? Come on, he's not worth it."

Reluctantly, Kyle let go of Cartman who fell to the floor, his head banging against his chair on the way, making him screech again. Kyle just stood over him, breathing heavily and giving Cartman the coldest, most savage look Craig had ever seen on his face. For a moment, he seemed an absolute stranger; a tangle of fury and relentless enmity. All of a sudden though, to everyone's utter consternation, a lone tear slid down Kyle's face as he flicked his attention to Craig; his large, green eyes bright with additional moisture. Kyle's face broke then as he regarded Craig, a sob tearing from his mouth, and for a moment Craig's heart came to a complete standstill as the whole world stopped short; the moment between them infinite and silent.

Craig was about to say something when Stan enfolded Kyle in his arms, gathering the crying boy to his chest and holding him close; the gesture sudden and destroying the stillness. Kyle didn't fight against him, and instead allowed himself to be hugged tight, wayward tears slipping down his cheeks. Somehow, even though it made absolutely no sense, this was the thing that finally tipped Craig over the edge, and he pushed himself away from the table. Standing up, he left his barely eaten lunch where it lay and stalked out of the cafeteria, the noise and activity of so many other people crashing back around him as he pushed through the doors and out into the empty hallway.

"What are you doing out here?"

Craig looked up to see Kyle watching him, his arms wrapped around himself against the gathering chill; snowflakes falling in droves all around them. The sky above was iron grey and heavy with clouds; saturated and dirty from the snowstorm passing through. After Craig had run out of the school during lunch he'd gone straight home and sat in his room until the afternoon started to die, ignoring his mother's pleas to tell her what was wrong; why had he come home so early?

He shrugged, glancing away as a shiver coursed through his bones. Craig's eyes trailed over his backyard, which was quickly being enveloped in snow; the white settling over everything and muffling all the little sounds of the world until they almost disappeared.

"I just didn't want to be inside anymore," he replied, kicking at a clump of snow and making it collapse. "My mom wouldn't get off my ass about coming home early."

"Did you tell her what happened?"

Craig snorted.

"Fuck no," he said. "I wouldn't waste a single breath on that fat piece of shit." Craig glanced at Kyle's right hand, now encased in a green glove. "I can't believe you hit him," he commented, smirking suddenly. "That was fucking crazy."

"He had it coming," Kyle replied, darkly. "Besides, I didn't want you to, well..." he trailed off and Craig felt a stab of irritation. Kyle seemed to have a tendency to start thoughts he had no intention of finishing without being prodded.

"You didn't want me to what?" Craig asked, curtly. "Spit it out, Broflovski."

Kyle shrugged, his face coloring a little.

"I didn't want you to lose your shit and punch him, okay? Then you wouldn't be able to play the piano."

Craig rolled his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by such a melodramatic statement while simultaneously being reluctantly touched by Kyle's concern. He always seemed to be capable of disarming him; cutting through his defenses and brushing against his core. It was fucking infuriating.

"Will you knock that bullshit off, please?" He snapped, standing up. "We're not acting out a scene from Golden Boy in my backyard."

"Golden Boy?" Kyle asked, clearly confused.

Craig sighed and brushed a mittened hand across his face, exasperation blooming in his gut.

"It's an old movie," he said, regretting opening his mouth in the first place. "About a dude who could play the violin but he became a boxer, and he was constantly worried about injuring his hands." Craig blushed and looked away, suddenly feeling ridiculous and awkward.

"I didn't know you liked old movies," Kyle said, obvious interest creeping into his voice. "What's your favorite?"

"Oh, my god, that isn't the point I was trying to make," Craig said, covering his face with both hands now. Pulling them away, he glanced at Kyle and saw that he was still watching him; clearly waiting for an answer. "Ugh, fine. Sunset Boulevard, goddammit. That's my favorite old movie, okay?"

"We should watch it together," Kyle suggested, brightening a little now.

Now Craig was really starting to lose his patience; with Kyle, with school, with society, with death - with fucking everything that had occurred over the last few months. A fleeting memory of Stan holding Kyle in the middle of the cafeteria tore through him as he walked toward Kyle; who regarded him with wide, suddenly fearful eyes. Ignoring them, Craig took a hold of his shoulders and shook him the way Kyle had shaken Cartman earlier that day.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He asked, his emotions whirling inside of him and breaking him apart; his heart pounding violently in his chest as the snow continued to fall. Every horrible thing seemed to converge on Craig all at once as he felt Kyle's delicate bones crumple under his fingers: Tweek in his coffin, his skin ashy and looking like it was made of wax, the endless, empty nights filled with painful, burning memories, the loud cafeteria and his friends with their faces filled with so much emotion and yet all of their gestures and overtures feeling so fucking pointless and fake. Suddenly, he felt like everything was collapsing inward and he was shaking Kyle so hard and he just couldn't stop; his fear and rage and sadness reaching a fever pitch and breaking over him like fire, burning him alive.

All at once, Craig stopped shaking Kyle as he leaned forward, broken sobs bursting from his mouth and tearing his throat to shreds; hateful teardrops flooding from his eyes and turning everything to a smudged, watercolor mess. Every jagged, soul-rending emotion was pouring out of him all at once, and somewhere in his cornered, frightened-animal brain Craig realized that he hadn't really cried since the funeral; that he'd been existing in an all-consuming isolating stasis for weeks on end as he stumbled hopelessly in the dark.

"Why did he fucking have to die?!" He screamed and his voice filled the frigid air and cracked among the trees, the clouds, the uncaring sky filled with ice particles and so much emptiness. "Why do useless sacks of shit like Eric Cartman get to walk around without a care in the world and people like Tweek-"

He broke off, howling in misery as he fell to his knees and wept openly for the first time in so long; every savage tear coursing down his face and falling like acid into the snowdrift beneath him. Vaguely, Craig was aware that Kyle was kneeling beside him and taking him into his arms as he cried and ranted about how unjust the world was; how the universe was profoundly broken and cruel.

Craig cried until he was a trembling heap in the swiftly descending darkness, the snow serving to insulate the world as he finally let go of some of the agony. Distantly, he could hear Kyle crying softly too, but he held Craig until the very end, there in his backyard; the two of them lost among the swirling snowflakes on a chilly November night.

"Do you really feel up to playing?" Kyle asked, sitting in the golden lamplight and wrapped in a blanket; a mug of hot chocolate clutched in his hands. "You really don't have to if you don't want to, you know."

"I know," Craig replied, softly; his voice rough from crying and carrying on like a damn fool. He could barely look at Kyle without blushing, deep shame flooding through him. He glanced at Kyle and his mouth became dry, the light in the living room bouncing off of his pale skin and setting his hair on fire. His eyes fell on Kyle's bare hands, clutched around the mug; at the way his right hand was swollen and bruised.

Coming over, Craig took the mug from Kyle's hands and set it on the coffee table; the redhead looking up at him with a face full of confusion. Reaching down, he delicately took a hold of Kyle's injured hand and studied it in the glow of the lamp. He sucked in his breath, looking at it from every angle.

"You don't have to fight my battles for me, Kyle," he murmured.

"I know," Kyle replied, a flush breaking across his cheeks. "But I want to."

"I still don't understand your motivations here," Craig commented, gently letting go of Kyle's hand.

"You don't have to," he said, grinning. "The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing."

Craig cocked an eyebrow at him, his face impassive.

"Pascal," Kyle shrugged. "Sometimes things don't have to have a reason, right?"

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that one," Craig said, walking out of the room. After a moment, he came back with a bundle in his hands and handed it to Kyle.

"What's this?"

"Ice," he said, simply. "Put it on your hand; it looks like shit."

"Oh, right." Kyle draped the towel filled with ice on his hand, smiling a little while Craig went back to the piano.

Feeling lighter than he had in ages, Craig opened up the familiar song book and immediately went to a specific song; the page number emblazoned in his memory. Taking a deep breath, he cracked his fingers and placed them on the smooth keys, his heart already picking up its pace in anticipation of Kyle's reaction. In a moment, he started to play, enjoying the throb in his chest and the ache in his eyes from crying out so many painful tears.

It wasn't too long before he heard Kyle getting up from his place on the couch and making his way over, his hand coming to rest on Craig's shoulder tentatively.

"On My Own," he murmured, his voice filled with pure pleasure. "But you said you were working on another piece."

Craig shrugged while continuing to play.

"I can work on more than one song at a time, Kyle," he replied, his deft fingers flowing over the keys. "Now sit your ass down, okay? Your hovering is throwing me off."

 **Present Day**

It was on a chilly Monday morning that Craig first had the pleasure of awakening with Kyle in his arms, held closely to his chest. Upon opening his eyes, he could barely believe his good fortune, and for a moment he just lay there while trying to wrap his head around his beloved being the first thing he saw; his lovely, red curls giving off their spicy scent. Apples and musk surrounded him as he watched Kyle sleep, every breath a tiny, fragile movement. Before too long, Kyle was stirring though, and he blinked awake; his eyes limpid pools of bewitching jade.

For a moment, he woozily contemplated Craig, his face flushed from sleep and his warmth seeping through his t-shirt into the skin of the boy beneath him. He smiled slowly but then his eyes shot wide open, and they were filled with a wild animal alertness. Rearing back, he sat up abruptly and looked down at Craig, his face burning a bright red as his hands worried and pulled at the blankets still wound around his body.

"W-what the hell is going on?" He asked, his voice trembling. "Why am I in your bed, Craig? Wh-"

He stopped as Craig's calm eyes studied him, Kyle's shoulders slumping a little as he came back to himself and remembered.

"I did it again, didn't I?" He whispered, his voice faint. "I couldn't sleep and I just barged in on you." Kyle brought a hand to his mouth and a pained expression flooded his features. "I'm sorry, Craig. I can't believe I keep putting you in these weird, uncomfortable situations."

A bizarre memory surfaced in Craig's mind at his words; of Pip pawing at Damien's leg like a dog in heat. Pushing it down, he couldn't help but grin.

"You don't have to apologize, Kyle," he said, sitting up too. "If anything, I should be thanking you." Stopping himself, he looked away before he stupidly said too much. Spending a night with Kyle was making him too cocky.

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked, his voice suspicious. "Craig?" He prodded, when the silence continued.

"I just," Craig started, daring to look into Kyle's eyes for a moment; unnerved to see traces of red lancing their way through the green irises suddenly. He blinked but the color faded, and he couldn't be absolutely sure that he'd seen it in the first place. "Uh, I just like being able to help when I can," he finished, the sudden flash of color startling him; whether it was real or not.

Kyle still looked at him suspiciously, his whole body seemingly tensed and anxious. Reluctantly, it would seem, he pulled his focus away and looked at the clock on Craig's nightstand.

"Shit, it's only 6 am, and I don't feel like I could go back to sleep," he murmured, brushing a hand across his forehead. Looking back at Craig, he shrugged, suddenly appearing small and helpless. "What should we do? If you want to go back to sleep, I'll get out of your hair."

"No, no," Craig said, throwing the covers back. "Here, I'll make some coffee. How does that sound?"

"Okay," Kyle said, smiling. He crawled off the bed and stumbled a little when he stood, catching himself on the bedside table.

"Hey, are you okay?" Craig asked, watching him with concern.

"Yeah, of course," Kyle replied, looking sheepish. "I'm still waking up." He shivered a little and wrapped his arms around himself; wearing only his standard t-shirt and boxer shorts. The apartment was deluged in a sudden chill that hadn't been present the night before.

"Here, put on my robe." Craig went and grabbed it from the back of the door and gently helped Kyle into it.

"What about you? Won't you be cold?" Kyle asked, snuggling into it and getting lost among the blue terrycloth.

Craig shook his head.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Promise. Come on." He led the way out of his room to the kitchen, where he busily began to prepare Kyle's coffee the same way he did every morning while Kyle wandered off into the living room.

"Craig, come here," he called after a moment, his voice soft.

Craig pressed the button on the coffee maker and waited to hear it start clicking before following the sound of Kyle's voice. When he walked into the living room, he saw that the sun hadn't risen yet; it's golden glow barely illuminating the horizon's edge. The sky was a dusky periwinkle blue with heavy clouds hanging low; faint snowflakes swirling down in sugary drifts.

"It's a little early in the year for snow," he commented, frowning.

"I guess that's what we get for living in the mountains," Kyle replied, hugging the oversized robe around himself. He walked around the piano and drew closer to the large windows, gazing out at the snow as it continued to sift down. "There's just something about the first snowfall of the year, huh?" He glanced over his shoulder at Craig, grinning.

"I suppose," Craig said, not as prone to flights of romanticism as his whimsical counterpart. "I'm more concerned with your drive to work."

Kyle was quiet for a moment, watching the snow as the eerie glow fell through the windows and over his slight frame.

"I don't know," he suddenly said, breaking the silence; particles of ice skittering against the panes of glass. "Maybe I won't go to work today."

"What?" Craig asked, completely floored. "Dude, you never miss work. What's going on?"

Kyle turned back to him, stumbling a little like he had in the bedroom, and managing to catch himself on the piano. Slowly, he sat on the bench and rested his head against the closed lid.

"I don't feel right," he said, his voice weak and watery. "My body feels so off, Craig."

A painful knife of pure guilt tore into Craig's heart at these words, and he couldn't help but think of spiking Kyle's coffee; the elixir no doubt working its way deep into the caverns of Kyle's body, and he was none the wiser. Craig hated himself in that moment; never having stopped to consider that something like this could happen. Which was fucking stupid, honestly; what'd he expect making a deal with someone like Damien? Fleeting regret tore at his gut as he walked over to Kyle, his hand coming to rest on his forehead.

Recoiling, Craig pulled his hand away quickly.

"Jesus Christ, Kyle! You're fucking burning up!"

"Hmm," Kyle replied listlessly, giving him a sleepy sideways glance. "I do feel a little warm, I guess."

"You're more than a little warm," Craig replied, rubbing his mouth as worry flooded his brain. "You have a fever." Sighing, he looked around, the aroma of cinnamon coffee wafting into the living room as the maker continued to work. "Where's your phone? I'm calling your work and telling them you aren't coming in today. In fact," he said, studying Kyle's slumped form, "I'm calling out too, so I can take care of you."

"You don't have to do that," Kyle said, holding up a hand, the robe falling down and revealing his slender arm in the frail light of the chilled morning; snow coming down thicker beyond the panes. "Really, Craig. I don't want you to go to any trouble."

Craig rolled his eyes and reached out to take a hold of Kyle's hand. Gently, he helped him to his feet and led him to the couch.

"Quit being ridiculous," he said in his most no-nonsense tone of voice. "Now tell me where your phone is so I can call your work; you aren't going anywhere today."

"Can I get you anything?" Craig asked anxiously, watching Kyle as he lay on the couch, his body lost under a mound of blankets.

Kyle groaned in response, having just woken up from a long nap as the snow continued to fall and pile up outside. Gusts of wind snapped against the windows, the pine trees rattling and scraping the glass like sharp, icy fingers. Craig had turned on the fireplace, glad that it's warmth was helping to break the raw nip in the apartment; the central heating running softly in the background and making the air dry. The TV was on but playing softly, the end of Sunset Boulevard flashing across the screen; William Holden's dead body floating in the pool listlessly.

"I feel too warm and I'm sweaty," Kyle complained, kicking the blankets off and sitting up; his cheeks candy apple red and his green eyes fever-bright and almost appearing toxic. "I want to take a shower." He stood shakily, one hand resting on the couch.

"Are you sure about that?" Craig asked, coming over to him. "You don't seem very steady."

"I'm fine," Kyle snapped, waving him away. Illness had a tendency to make him short-tempered and petulant, so Craig rolled his eyes and stepped back; still feeling uncertain but not wanting to annoy Kyle further. Besides, if his guess was right, he was the reason that Kyle felt like shit in the first place.

"Well, okay, but let me know if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle replied. "Quit hovering, Craig. I'm not a child."

"Whatever you say," Craig sighed, watching Kyle disappear down the hallway to his room. After a moment, he heard the shower turning on and he managed to relax a little; settling down on the sofa to watch TV for awhile.

It wasn't too long before Craig heard a loud crash and he was rushing to Kyle's room, his heart in his mouth as panic made sweat break out over his body. He threw open the bathroom door to see Kyle collapsed on the floor, gasping as he leaned against the wall; the shower continuing to run and billowing steam filling the small room.

"Kyle, what the fuck?" Craig asked, coming over to him and kneeling on the tile at his side.

Kyle looked up at him and his eyes were filled with tears, while desperation distorted his features.

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" He cried, reaching out a hand and clutching at Craig's shirt. "I feel like I'm burning up and I feel so tired and, and..." A sob broke through. "Craig, please..." he begged, "please help me."

That savage guilt was tearing at him again even as elation flowed through Craig's veins. Kyle needed him, just him, and here he was, naked and trembling on the floor, completely vulnerable. Craig fought back a sudden shudder as he lifted Kyle into his arms, the redhead's hands clasping around his neck and holding him tightly.

"Here," Craig said, soothingly, arousal stirring in him at the sight of Kyle's bare flesh. "How about you take a bath instead? What do you think?"

Kyle nodded and lay his head on Craig's shoulder, nuzzling close. Craig had to stop himself from hugging him too tightly, reveling in Kyle's curls brushing the skin of his neck. How many times had he seen him hug Stan just like this, and now it was his turn. The thought filled him with such unbridled joy it was almost painful.

 _It's just the poison you gave him, working through his blood and warping him. Wake the fuck up,_ his mind screeched at him, bringing him back to reality temporarily. Craig brushed the thoughts aside though, deciding to give in to his baser desires as his eyes lingered over Kyle's body as he lay him in the bathtub after turning off the shower. Slowly, the warm water started to fill the tub, sloshing against his beautiful, smooth skin.

Knowing just where to look, Craig plucked a bag of Epsom salts from under the counter, and poured a little into the water; the smell of lavender wafting into the air and surrounding everything.

"This will help if you're feeling achy," he murmured, reaching a hand into the tub and swirling the salts around; daring to allow a finger to caress Kyle's thigh but only for a moment before he could notice. "Is this helping? Taking a bath?"

"Yes, thank you," Kyle said, the water drenching his hair and turning it from scarlet to wine red; the strands saturated and heavy against his neck. He smiled and looked up at Craig, his expression tired but serene. "Tell me something weird about yourself, Craig; something you've never told me before."

Craig thought a moment, slightly surprised at the request. He could think of something monumental he could reveal to Kyle, but given the circumstances, he didn't think it was such a great idea. He was pretty sure that if Kyle knew he was desperately in love with him to the point where he'd sought out the devil's services, that might put a damper on the moment. Instead, he groped for something else, but it was hard; Kyle knew almost everything about him at this point, within reason, of course. He still had so much to hide.

"Um, I have trypophobia," he said, just wincing at the sound of the word.

Kyle sat up, his eyebrows raised in question.

"It's an aversion, or fear, of, well," Craig said, rubbing his neck and feeling embarrassed, "tiny clusters of holes, or irregular patterns. Mostly holes, in my case. Just the thought of them makes my skin crawl."

"How strange," Kyle said, studying him. "Why do you suppose that is?"

Craig shrugged, not liking the prospect of giving the subject a lot of thought.

"I guess it makes me think of things nesting, like insects or -" he broke off, not wanting to continue; thoughts of Tweek in his coffin stealing his voice. Craig hated to think of him down deep in the earth, where the hungry insects collected and feasted among the brown dirt.

"Wow, that's pretty weird," Kyle said. "How did you even figure out you had that?"

"I honestly don't know," Craig replied. "Trust me, though, you'll know you have it once you see the wrong thing; something will just trigger you." He thought a moment. "Besides, you're one to talk, mister "I hate urine and bananas". You have just as many hang-ups as I do, if not more."

"Let's not talk about that," Kyle snipped, looking away haughtily. "I know you pee in the shower, by the way, and frankly, it sickens me."

"Quit being a brat," Craig said, fondly, his eyes tracing over Kyle's body again. The arousal was still simmering deep inside of him and igniting his blood, but he was trying to behave; although, Kyle made it so, so hard with his freckles on his shoulders. The little pinpoints of cinnamon were like constellations meant for Craig's eyes alone. "Are you going to wash?" He finally asked, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"I feel too weak," Kyle said, sheepishly. He covered his face with his hands and moaned. "God, I'm so fucking pathetic when I'm sick."

"Give it a rest," Craig said, reaching for a washcloth. "Stay still."

"What are you -"

"I'm washing you, so pipe down." In a moment, Craig poured spicy body wash onto the cloth and was creating a lather, his heart pounding as he finally began to caress the body he adored so much.

Kyle, for his part, just sat back obediently; his cheeks burning an even deeper shade of red. He leaned forward slowly so Craig could wash his back, never knowing that the slope of his back was being admired so ardently; Craig's eyes resting on his firm backside and practically devouring him whole.

As Craig washed him, he couldn't help but think of Damien's words from the day before:

 _"The potion will follow what's in your heart, Craig. I already told you that. Whatever you want, will happen; you have complete control of this situation."_

On the heels of the memory were visions of Pip's lax, deadened eyes; he had appeared to be no more than a doll for Damien to do with what he wanted. Craig shuddered a little as he stroked Kyle's shoulder, bubbles frothing over the creamy skin. He was pretty sure he didn't want that to be the outcome of all of this, not his feisty, hot-blooded Kyle; reduced to nothing but a subservient plaything.

 _But what do I want?_ Craig asked himself, the question scaring him a little. _What if there are things in my heart that could hurt Kyle? Desires I'm not even aware of? Just what the fuck is going to happen at the end of all of this?_

Later on that night, as the snow started to finally taper off and the fire raged in the fireplace, Craig sat at the piano and played as Kyle dozed on the couch; his soft breaths stealing across the room and caressing his ears. He'd opted not to play his usual heartsick fair, deciding instead to play happy love songs that reflected the tranquility in his heart. It had been a lovely day, and he couldn't remember being happier; finally having some time to dote on and care for his Kyle. He continued to play while humming softly:

 _My mind's distracted and diffused_  
 _My thoughts are many miles away_  
 _They lie with you when you're asleep_  
 _And kiss you when you start your day_

Sure, he was still deeply ashamed that he'd no doubt contributed to Kyle's suffering, but all was fair in love and war, right? At least, that's what Craig kept telling himself as he continued to play one love song after another; the notes filling the room and burning as brightly as the flames in the hearth. Night was falling beyond the windows now, and the stars were winking into life; glittering gems strung on a necklace across the slowly darkening sky.

A small sound at his side drew Craig's attention away from the music and suddenly Kyle was there, standing close and watching him with strange eyes; the light in them predatory and woebegone all at once.

"Kyle? Are you okay?"

Kyle responded by drawing forward and crawling onto the piano bench, his leg curling over both of Craig's until he was straddling him; his arms winding around his neck. Craig could barely believe what was happening until Kyle's eyes caught the light from the fire and they were illuminated briefly; flashes of green and scarlet at war in his luminous irises. Craig sucked in a breath at the change in them, and started to speak when Kyle placed a finger on his lips; just like the night before.

"I kissed you last night, didn't I?" He whispered, his voice drenched in barely-concealed desire. "Tell me the truth."

Craig nodded his head, the arousal from before burning through him as he lifted his trembling hands to Kyle's back; his fingers clenching around his t-shirt and crushing the thin material.

"Yes, you did," he replied, his voice almost a growl. "I didn't think you remembered."

"Oh, I do," Kyle said, smiling a little. "I believe I kissed you right here, didn't I?" He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Craig's neck, right over his pulse; almost making him gasp as he nodded a little.

Kyle pulled away and smiled again, the green and red lights dancing in his eyes and almost having the power to transform him into someone else entirely; a being of pure sexual energy, a siren beckoning Craig to his doom.

"What if I kissed you here, though?" Kyle asked, leaning forward again and this time his lips came to rest on Craig's mouth; their plump softness driving him to near madness. They lingered there for a moment until Kyle sighed and licked along Craig's lower lip, imploring him to open his mouth to him.

Without thinking, Craig pulled Kyle toward him until he could feel his rapid heartbeat flush against his chest; the frantic staccato leaping like a rabbit as it ran in terror from the stalking wolf. In what could only be a dream, he found himself kissing his Kyle deeply as the fire raged inside of him, threatening to destroy everything in its wake; dark desire cutting through him like a million daggers.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ Craig chanted over and over in his head as Kyle melted into him, their tongues exploring each other's mouths. _God, I just fucking love you so much._

Thoughts of Damien and curses and potions evaporated in that moment as Craig suddenly found his dreams coming true; the thoughts he had formed in the darkness finally coming into the light. Kyle gasped against Craig's mouth, his sweet, intoxicating kisses tasting like rich wine and burnt sugar; sending Craig headlong into a lurid, overwhelming paradise. After a few tantalizing moments, Craig looked over Kyle's shoulder, noticing his phone beginning to vibrate where it sat on the piano, and Craig almost growled with irritation when he saw the name on the display:

 _ **Stan.**_

Reaching forward casually, his other hand still wrapped in Kyle's shirt, their mouths still hungrily meeting and tasting one another, Craig swiftly dragged his finger across the screen of Kyle's phone; abruptly sending the call to voicemail. Stan had had his fun with Craig's beloved, his Kyle, and now it was his turn, finally.


	8. Chapter 8

Regardless of what my comments in the story would lead you to believe, I absolutely adore Ethan Frome. Just putting that out there, lol. Also, this chapter references a movie called "Audition" - if you haven't seen it, no biggy, I just wanted to say going in that it's a Japanese horror film that is, well...it kind of needs to be seen to be believed, but I just wanted to preface the chapter by touching on it. (I liked it well enough, it's just not something I'd ever see again: guy wants a wife, holds auditions, meets a girl who's pretty and seems normal enough, turns out she's fucking NOT, and then, well...the last 15 minutes are a ride.) Chapter Text **"I want to put my hand out and touch you. I want to do for you and care for you. I want to be there when you're sick and when you're lonesome."  
― Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome ** **"The return to reality was as painful as the return to consciousness after taking an anesthetic"  
― Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome **

**Wishing you were**  
 **Somehow here again**  
 **Wishing you were**  
 **Somehow near**  
 **Sometimes it seemed**  
 **If I just dreamed**  
 **Somehow you would**  
 **Be here**

 **-Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again, Andrew Lloyd Webber / Charles Hart / Richard Stilgoe (Phantom of the Opera)**

* * *

 **10 Years Prior**

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Craig glanced over his shoulder, his hands poised on the piano keys after throwing what could almost be considered a tantrum; every note driving him crazy because they all came out completely wrong.

Once again, Kyle had invited himself over on a late Saturday afternoon that was merging on early evening; dusk waiting in the wings as the sun began its descent. Craig had been trying to play the same fucking song for the better part of the day, but no matter what he did, it sounded awful. He was just about to give up and had slammed his hands down on the keyboard in disgust when that familiar voice broke through his shattered concentration.

It just seemed to be one of those days where Craig was in a savage temper, and everything served to either annoy or infuriate him; Kyle's sudden presence being no exception. He scowled as the redhead drew forward to settle on the couch, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets.

"No matter what I do this song sounds like shit," Craig seethed, closing the piano lid over the keys with a resounding snap. "Everything just fucking sounds wrong and it's pissing me off." He turned around to face Kyle, his mood becoming even more sour when he noticed that his jacket was unzipped, revealing smooth ivory skin stretched over a delicate clavicle. Why the fuck did he even think to notice such an unimportant detail?

Sometimes it seemed like Craig couldn't help but notice Kyle in a series of snippets, like photographs falling into a pile but never one containing a full picture of him. Rather, he noticed green eyes and pink lips, red curls at the base of his neck or the slender curves of his wrists. Why couldn't he see him completely, and why were the details becoming so familiar, almost like he'd been born knowing them; why did he fucking care?

Maybe it was because slowly but surely Craig was beginning to lose the clear picture of Tweek he'd carried around in his heart for so long. It used to be that he could just close his eyes and Tweek's face would spring to mind, his soft, blue eyes and his nervous, fumbling hands; the way he shook like a leaf on a tree. His absence was diluting the memories that had once been so sharp, and now the empty places in his thoughts were filled with Kyle, because no matter what, he always seemed to be there; waiting for Craig to turn around and notice him, acknowledge him. It'd been almost a month since Craig had gone back to school, and Kyle had worked even harder to insert himself into the fabric of his life. At one point, Craig had even stopped complaining about it as much; opting instead to approach the whole situation with disgruntled, impatient indifference.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was actually starting to enjoy Kyle's presence? Now there was a notion that had the power to keep him up at night; the idea that he could become attached to another person so quickly. Hadn't that been his biggest mistake when it came to Tweek, after all?

Shaking his head, Craig stood abruptly, making the glass vase of daffodils on the piano shake a little. Reaching out, he steadied them, their buttery yellow petals continuing to tremble.

"What song were you trying to play?" Kyle asked, softly. He seemed to have gotten used to Craig's bad moods, so he wasn't afraid to ask questions even when he may receive a biting response.

Craig shot him a look of annoyance, his hands still wrapped around the vase, the cool glass sliding through his fingers like smooth ice. He detested the sentimentality that dripped from his response when he finally deigned to give it:

"Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again," he snapped, sudden color erupting in his cheeks at how ridiculously sappy he felt. Craig had worked to maintain a hardened facade for so long and Kyle was dismantling it piece by piece; every meeting serving to expose more and more of the flaws in Craig's armor.

"Oh," Kyle said, nodding his head knowingly; this tiny gesture serving to reinforce Craig's ire for whatever reason. "Well, I won't ask you to play it for me, okay? We can do something else if you'd like; get your mind off of whatever is bothering you. What do you think?"

"I think you need to tell me why the fuck you keep coming over to my house uninvited," Craig replied, enjoying the way his words seemed to cut and draw blood; Kyle's expression changing from shock to dejection in an instant. Misery loved company after all, and that was an adage that Craig clung to especially when he was in a bad way; whether from emotional pain or just general irritation.

Kyle stood and brushed a curl from his face, coming over to study the daffodils as well; Craig's hands still holding onto the vase like it was a lifeline.

"I remember all the daffodils on Tweek's grave," he commented, one finger drifting over a petal; feather soft and delicate. "They were so perfect." He smiled suddenly, and looked at Craig. "Were they your idea?"

There he went again, refusing to acknowledge Craig's open attempts to draw him into a confrontation. It was almost like he was becoming immune to Craig's caustic way of expressing himself.

"Yeah, it was," Craig said, rolling his eyes and withdrawing his hands; his arms crossed over his chest. "They just..." he shrugged, lost for the right words; probably because they didn't exist. "They just seemed to make sense."

"I completely agree," Kyle said, his eyes warm and inviting; the turn so sudden from the melancholy that had settled in them before. "I'm not surprised you thought of them, by the way. You knew Tweek better than anyone, after all."

Craig looked away, not in the mood to let Kyle stroke his ego over something as macabre as Tweek's funeral flowers. Glancing at the cheery flowers, he started to speak idly.

"It's hard to believe something so bright and happy can be associated with Narcissus."

"Hmm?" Kyle asked, his eyebrows raised.

"He was the son of a river god and a nymph, and was so preoccupied with his own beauty that he fell in love with his reflection after looking into a pool," Craig explained. "He was so enamored with himself that he couldn't stand to leave the pool, and eventually he committed suicide; the only thing that was left behind was a narcissus flower." He adjusted one of the flowers, which was starting to droop slightly.

"So, let me guess, that's where the term narcissism came from, right?" Kyle asked. "I could never associate that idea with Tweek, dude. Cartman, maybe, but never Tweek."

"Well, daffodils also signify rebirth and new beginnings in some cultures, so, who the fuck knows?" Craig replied. "I didn't find out about the flower's origins until after Tweek's funeral, anyway. Besides, they were his favorite flower, and I figured the least we could do was have his favorite things around him during his own fucking funeral."

"That's fair," Kyle sighed, sitting down on the piano bench. He looked up at Craig, his face full of sad curiosity. "Why are you in such a bad mood?"

Craig rolled his eyes and moved the vase a fraction before turning and leaving the room. Dimly, he was aware that Kyle was following him like a little redheaded puppy, his footsteps passing over the carpet softly. When they made it to Craig's room, he picked up a book from his desk and tossed it to Kyle, who almost dropped it; but managed to catch it clumsily, studying the cover in the dying light of the sun. He frowned.

"Ethan Frome?" He asked, confused.

"Yeah, we're reading it in English," Craig replied, sitting down on the bed.

"Okay, but what's the big deal?" Kyle asked, coming to sit beside him, the slim book held loosely on his lap. "I mean, it's okay; not great or anything, but I don't see why it would put you in a bad mood."

"It fucking annoyed me," Craig replied, eyeing the book with distaste. "So, the fucker pines for this girl, and instead of just running away to be together, they do something stupid and get in an accident, she ends up paralyzed, and then they're just completely unhappy for the rest of their lives. What was the fucking point?"

Kyle shrugged and placed the book on the bedside table.

"What's the point of anything, really?" He asked.

"How the hell am I supposed to answer that?" Craig snapped, throwing his hands up. "It's too open-ended!"

"I guess love is just a leap of faith, Craig," Kyle replied, softly; a strange look filtering into his eyes like goldfish swimming through green pools. "You can't really look for a point, because it just shouldn't matter; being with the other person should be your focus. Or, at least, making them happy...even if you can't be with them."

"A leap of faith, huh?" Craig snorted. "What bullshit." He stood and went to the window, where shards of snow were beginning to fall like glass, catching the orange sunlight as it dragged down the sky; purple and red and blue clouds washing over everything. He hated it when it snowed and the sun was shining at the same time, it fucked with his ideas of reality; snow was meant for white, quiet days.

"Are you telling me that you never would've loved Tweek if you'd known he was going to die so young?" Kyle asked, breaking into Craig's thoughts with the sharpness of a razor blade.

"Like I fucking had a choice," Craig growled, glancing at him. "Love just fucking creeps up on you, Kyle; it doesn't ask you to open the door, it fucking breaks it down and forces you to deal with the fallout whether you want to or not."

Kyle was quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on Craig's face as his expression took on a slow, secret knowledge; green eyes still filled with faraway places and waiting creatures.

"I think I know exactly what you mean," he finally said, his voice brittle like see-through, glassy candy, but lacking its sweetness. No, if anything, Craig was surprised to hear the defeat registering in Kyle's tone.

"Love has the power to either destroy you or make you so happy it's almost painful, huh?" Kyle asked, his gaze drifting downward and settling on Craig's comforter, his finger tracing the diamond pattern on the fabric. "There isn't a whole lot of grey area."

Craig turned from the window and came over, a nagging suspicion blooming in his brain, and for a moment he didn't want to focus on his own crappy mood. Kyle was clearly trying to tell him something, but fuck if he could figure out what it was.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, trying to appear nonchalant while picking up Ethan Frome from the bedside table. In a fluid movement, he slammed it back on his desk, face-down. It pissed him off that he'd enjoyed the writing so much and then the story had just worked his last goddamn nerve; why couldn't people just decide what they wanted and go for it? Wasn't that what life was all about?

Kyle shook his head, the misty look evaporating from his eyes and a playful smile quirking his lips. He held up his hands in apology.

"I'm totally fine," he chirped, even though Craig wasn't buying his bullshit for a second. "I was just feeling a little," he thought a moment while glancing up at the ceiling, "pensive, I guess? Sorry." Kyle studied him for a moment, slim limbs relaxing as he unzipped his coat all the way, revealing a shirt thin as tissue paper.

"You are a horrible liar, Kyle," Craig said, his eyes resting on that fragile, nearly see-through fabric; annoyed with himself at his pointless preoccupation. An idea came to him then, and he snapped his fingers; Kyle's attention immediately arrested.

"I have an idea," Craig started. "Let's swipe a bottle of my mom's wine and watch a scary movie. I think we need to focus on something other than love and bullshit. What do you think?"

Kyle considered this, a finger straying to rest on his chin.

"That should be okay, but are you sure you want to watch a scary movie? It won't, I don't know, bother you or whatever?"

Craig shrugged, annoyed and touched by Kyle's concern; just like always.

"Life has to go on in one way or another, doesn't it? Besides, I have a movie I've been wanting to see for awhile but Tweek actively refused to watch it with me." He laughed a little, fondness filtering into him from the memory. "Tweek really wasn't a fan of scary movies, for the most part. We usually watched Pixar stuff together."

"Oh?" Kyle asked. "What movie is it?"

Craig went to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling a DVD from a pile of books and random crap. He held it up for Kyle to see.

"Audition?" Kyle asked, his eyes widening. "I've heard of that. Isn't it supposed to be pretty intense?"

"We won't know until we watch it, will we?"

As it turned out, "intense" was actually a very mild way to describe the movie, and even Craig, who prided himself on being a stoic badass, couldn't help but start feeling acutely uncomfortable as the movie reached its extremely disturbing climax. As his eyes stayed glued on the screen, he was also acutely aware of Kyle huddling close to his side, his face pressing into Craig's arm every now and then.

"Why the fuck did you want to watch this?" He asked at one point; as the fragile, lovely Japanese woman on the screen sat in the same spot for days waiting for the phone to ring; a disconcerting bag sitting off to her side.

"It got good reviews," Craig replied, his heartbeat increasing because of the movie and certainly not because Kyle was clutching at his arm. "And apparently it's been really influential in the horror industry."

"You don't say?" Kyle asked, his eyes fixed on the screen; surreal imagery assaulting both of them in trippy waves. He took a tremulous sip of red wine, grimacing at its bitter flavor. "Are you sure your mom won't notice you stole some of her wine?"

"Nah," Craig replied, taking another drink of wine himself. "She has so many bottles of cheap wine you'd never believe it. You know how much white women love their wine, right?"

"Sure, why not?" Kyle slurred, draining his glass and holding it up so Craig could refill it.

"Do you really want more?" Craig asked, hesitating a little. "You already sound pretty wasted."

"Can you blame me?" Kyle asked, gesturing at the screen. "This movie is fucking out of control."

"Fair enough," Craig said, filling his glass.

By the time the last fifteen minutes of the movie rolled around, Kyle's wine glass was forgotten and set aside, his head coming to rest on Craig's shoulder; his soft curls tickling his neck a little. If he had been watching the movie with Tweek (that is, if Tweek hadn't freaked out and fled the room in terror given the movie's content), Craig would've draped his arm around him and pulled him close; his fingers toying with Tweek's fine, flaxen hair. In this situation, Craig only shifted a little but not enough to make it so Kyle had to move away; the mysterious scent of spice and apples invading his senses. Why did Kyle smell like a honeycrisp apple that had just been cut open?

They watched in complete silence as the main character was mercilessly tortured by the unassuming, diminutive woman he'd interviewed in the beginning of the film; shock registering in Craig's bloodstream at the carnage unfolding on the screen. After the movie ended, they both continued to sit in silence as the credits rolled, neither of them able to find words to describe what they'd just watched.

Kyle sat up, his face flushed from alcohol and obvious weariness, his tired eyes cut through with streaks of red marring the whites. He gave Craig a look that could only be considered accusatory.

"What?" Craig asked, turning off the TV and stretching his arms above his head; the movie lingering like a bad taste in his senses. "You have to admit it was...different, right?"

"Different," Kyle repeated. "Yeah, that's not really the word I would use to describe it. Let's try," he laid a finger on his lips while pretending to ruminate, "horrifying? I think that's a much better fit."

"Well, that's kind of the idea, Kyle," Craig replied, rolling his eyes. "It's a horror movie, after all." His eyes fell on the clock resting on his nightstand, the display informing him that it was already after 10. "Dude, it's pretty late."

Kyle glanced at the clock too and groaned, leaning his head back against Craig's bed.

"I'm too tired to go home, and my mom will kill me if she knows I drank."

"I told you not to drink so much," Craig grumbled while Kyle threw him a dirty look. He stood up and went to his dresser. "I guess it can't be helped, though."

"What can't?"

"You're just going to have to spend the night, right?" Craig asked, turning around; one eyebrow cocked. "Unless of course you'd like to wander home in the snow, nice and loaded? I bet your mom would just love that. Besides, I know how she is, she'd want to know where you got the wine and then I'd be dragged into the whole thing; I'd like to avoid that if at all possible." He rooted through the drawer while a feeling of faint irritation coursed through him at the thought of Mrs. Broflovski's shrill, scolding nature. "Your parents already think I'm a bad influence, anyway."

"Well, uh," Kyle said, his hands fumbling together. "I mean, if you don't mind, of course." He grinned as Craig handed him a large t-shirt and some sweatpants.

"What?" Craig snapped, unzipping his sweater.

"I just think it's funny that you were pissed about me even dropping by, and now I'm spending the night," Kyle replied, pulling off his coat.

"Oh, Jesus," Craig said. "Quit making a big deal out of nothing, okay? And besides, you never answered me when I asked you what the fuck you were doing dropping by in the first place."

Kyle pulled his t-shirt off which effectively made Craig's mouth go dry, every nerve in his body suddenly standing at attention and burning like candle wicks ignited; the sensation almost painful. He forced himself to look away as Kyle's skin fairly glowed in the lamplight; the slender lines of his body almost like a snow-covered landscape; completely unsullied by the touch of man. He was sure that there had to be a flaw somewhere, but he sure as hell couldn't see it.

"I was on my way home from Stan's house," Kyle replied, his voice a little muffled as he pulled on Craig's shirt. "I was feeling a little down so I wanted to see you." He started unbuttoning his jeans.

"You're pretty casual about changing clothes in front of me," Craig commented, his brain latching onto Stan's name like a dog worrying a cut of meat. "Especially considering you freaked out about us sharing the same cup that one time."

"What can I say? I feel more comfortable with you now; it's weird." Kyle pushed down his jeans to reveal skinny legs; delicate freckles dusting over the fronts of his thighs. He kicked them off as Craig swiftly undressed too; not wanting to draw out the process any longer than was absolutely necessary. If Kyle felt comfortable getting half-naked in his presence, who was he to stop him? It was his fucking room, after all.

"Hmm," he said, his tone casual. "Why would you be upset after seeing Stan? Isn't he your super best friend or whatever?" Craig rolled his eyes at the term, hardly believing he'd just used it.

"Yeah, of course he is." Kyle pulled on the sweatpants and Craig almost laughed to see how long they were on him. He was easily one of the shortest guys in their class, while Craig was one of the tallest; nearly 6 feet tall the last time he'd been measured.

"It's complicated," Kyle continued, folding his clothes neatly and setting them aside. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on," Craig snapped. "You badger me about fucking everything, ever inane detail of my existence, and now you don't want to talk about your own shit? Dude, that isn't fair!"

Kyle sighed and slumped down on the bed, his cheeks still bright red from the wine. He looked at Craig and shrugged helplessly.

"Let's just say, my motivations for being here," he gestured to Craig's room, his arms wide. "just in general, well, they were a little more involved than what I initially told you, okay?"

"So, you weren't just here because of Tweek?" Craig asked, vague suspicion creeping through his blood.

"Oh, I was definitely here because of Tweek, and wanting to support you, but it goes deeper than that." He looked away. "I thought you could help me understand something about myself."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Craig was starting to feel annoyed, though he couldn't have said why, and Kyle's beating around the bush certainly wasn't helping his mood.

"Just leave it alone for now, okay?" Kyle asked, his voice pleading. He looked up at Craig, his eyes beseeching him; almost burning with a plea for mercy. "I promise I'll tell you everything when I'm ready, but right now," he shook his head. "I don't even know how I feel, so I'm pretty sure I couldn't explain it well enough so you could understand."

"That's just great," Craig said, his annoyance flaring. "I'm just supposed to bare my soul to you, even though I never even asked for your help, but you can just pick and choose what you tell me? That's supremely fucked up, Kyle."

Kyle's eyes registered hurt now, which filled Craig with a savage pleasure.

"Why are you so angry, Craig?"

"Forget it," Craig snapped. "I'm going to bed; get out of my way."

"Oh, right," Kyle said, standing up and watching as Craig pulled back the covers. "W-where should I sleep? On the floor?"

"Jesus Christ," Craig said, brusquely. He pointed to the bed and tapped his foot in irritation. "Just get in, okay?"

Wordlessly, Kyle crawled into the bed until his body touched the wall and lay down, watching Craig with questioning eyes. He pulled the covers up until they covered his mouth. Craig climbed in beside him and immediately snapped off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Ignoring his frenzied heartbeat, Craig lay on his back and stared out the window, at the snowflakes swirling through frosted air, trying to keep a handle on his sudden temper.

Kyle thought he was so fucking hard to figure out, but he was nothing if not transparent. Craig wasn't a fucking moron after all, and he knew the redhead's melancholy stemmed directly from Stan, and a sneaking suspicion was starting to rear its head. He was going to play his cards close to his vest until Kyle finally decided to be honest but this cloak and dagger bullshit was seriously for the birds. Craig could hardly believe it, honestly, having always pegged Kyle as verging on being asexual.

 _Why the fuck should I even care, anyway?_ He asked himself, his hands clenching around the blanket in the darkness; Kyle's breaths stealing through the silence. _It's not like his sexuality has anything to do with me._

And yet, Craig couldn't help but think of all the little things he'd started to notice in the last couple of weeks; ever since he'd come back to school, really. Stan walking Kyle to all of his classes, walking him home, sitting next to him at lunch; their shoulders brushing as they laughed about all of their little in-jokes, the two of them an entity almost entirely unto themselves. From what he could see, there were no cracks to be found there, their bond seemingly fused on a profound level; comprised of blood and bone almost from the cradle.

Craig angrily brushed these thoughts aside, explaining them away from the basis that he was only comparing Stan and Kyle's intense closeness to what he'd used to have with Tweek, and suddenly the burning tears were threatening his eyes; his thoughts straying to the daffodils languishing on the piano in the living room; petals giving off a sun-drenched fragrance that immediately took Craig back to the past and happier times.

"Craig?" Kyle suddenly spoke, tearing through thoughts of yellow flowers and Stan giving Kyle sideways glances, his heart practically throbbing in his eyes, even if Kyle couldn't see it; Craig could, though.

"What?" Craig made sure to keep his tone unaffected. If Kyle wanted to have his secrets, so could he.

"I can't stop thinking about that movie," he said. "She completely destroyed that guy because she wanted him to love her. How could she do that to someone she wanted to love?"

Craig snorted, his hands still curled on the bed covers.

"Obsession warps people," he replied. "And really, he only had himself to blame, don't you think? He shouldn't have made her fucking care in the first place."

"I guess that makes sense." Kyle shifted a little, his warmth and smell ghosting through the air and immediately capturing Craig's reluctant attention; he was like a mug of apple cider, laced with spice and giving off a rich, dark flavor. "I don't know if I could ever be that obsessed with another person."

Craig just grunted and tried to ignore Kyle's presence, which was serving to almost overwhelm him now; and he was painfully aware of how small his bed really was, given the circumstances.

"Craig?"

"What?"

"If Tweek was a daffodil, what kind of flower am I?"

Craig turned his head, one eyebrow cocked as he studied Kyle's outline in the glow of the lamplight pouring through the window.

"Seriously, Kyle?"

"Just lighten up and answer the fucking question."

"Ugh, fine. What kind of flower?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't it obvious?" Craig scoffed, turning over on his side so his back was to Kyle; his tantalizing aroma continuing to plague him.

"What do you mean?"

"You'd be a fucking bleeding heart, Kyle. No question."

 **Present Day**

Craig had laid Kyle among the blankets littering the couch as the firelight continued to burn and wash over the living room, embers glowing orange and red; the blue heart of the fire smoldering at its core. The snapping and popping of the flames as they licked across the wood was the only sound in the room other than Kyle's throaty little gasps; his lips tasting Craig's mouth feverishly.

Craig could barely believe this turn of events, finally having his Kyle wrapped up in his arms and laying beneath him; their bodies pressed tight against each other as their hands explored shyly; their tongues sliding together as they sighed into one another's aching mouths.

 _He tastes just the way I dreamed he would,_ Craig thought, his hands stroking under Kyle's t-shirt and brushing across often-admired flesh and fragile bumps of bone; a forbidden, lush landscape that had only been the product of fantasies before, but never real enough for Craig to touch. Kyle arched into him as Craig gently bit his bottom lip, and his burnt sugar flavor washed over his tongue and threatened to drive Craig over the edge and straight into complete insanity.

"So sweet," he murmured, daring to finally speak private thoughts aloud; always in his mind but normally kept in the secret dark. Craig held Kyle's body like he was made of spun glass, breakable but so beautiful he could hardly stand it; his fragility only compounding how precious he was.

"Craig," Kyle moaned, throwing his head back and opening up his white neck to Craig's lips, which gladly drifted to the aromatic flesh and pressed kisses everywhere; trailing down until they stopped at the hollow of Kyle's throat. Craig nearly sighed when he learned that Kyle's mysterious, perfect scent was strongest there, where the fragile bones met.

Craig seemed to be lost in a tide of all-consuming fire and wild abandon, every dream and wish and yearning coming to life right in his arms, and he couldn't even consider stopping now that it was all so close. All he could imagine was possessing Kyle completely, there and then; that very night. He had staked his claim so many years ago, and now, now -

"Are you sure about this?" Craig asked, nuzzling Kyle's neck and drifting kisses down over his shoulder; his tongue dragging over skin so delicious it had to be considered sinful. "Kyle?"

"I-I don't know," Kyle replied, his hands coming to rest in Craig's hair and tangling through the ebony strands, pulling him so close they almost shared the same body. Christ, if only they could!

Craig pulled back, vaguely alarmed at Kyle's answer. The embers of the fire caught in Kyle's eyes again, and now Craig could see that the green was fiercely becoming obliterated by blood-red dye seeping through; almost like gore crawling through sea green waters, the result of a seal being torn apart by a shark. The thought disturbed him further.

Is that what this was? A predator preying on its next meal? The wolf feasting on the lamb? A demon rising through the smoke and fires of Hell and entering the bedroom of one unsuspecting until it was too late; innocence rent in twain in the face of relentless, bloodthirsty evil?

Craig had told Damien that he'd wanted his pound of flesh, and now it was so close, but what was this really? Did it even matter at this point? Kyle watched Craig as he went to war with himself, his carmine and emerald soaked eyes loaded with unspoken questions; swollen, pink lips parted as he waited. Pip's face swam into Craig's mind's eye, and he could almost convince himself that what he intended for Kyle was completely different than Damien's designs. No, Craig's avarice and conquest hinged on deep, abiding, unyielding love; was truly predicated on the purest adoration.

In a moment, even as he was torn with agonizing indecision, Craig started to lean forward again, coming so close to Kyle's face that his luminous irises stopped being planes of color but instead turned into woven threads of pigment; so close he could see every red and green stitch weaving together to create an alien landscape. Craig brushed his lips over Kyle's mouth as his hand snaked slowly toward the waistband of his boxers, aching to push aside the fabric so he could finally -

A loud knock at the door destroyed the moment in an instant, Kyle pulling back to stare at Craig with fever-bright eyes. The desire that had been steeping in them was gone now and only startled, confused terror remained; the red disappearing slowly as the green once again took precedence.

"Craig, what are you -"

"Quiet," Craig snapped, standing up and turning on a lamp, pushing back the firelight. Looking down at Kyle, he frowned as another knock came at the door; this one louder and more insistent. "Stay put, Kyle. I'll get it."

Fighting back his building rage and simmering arousal, Craig went to the door and flung it open, ready to do battle with the motherfucker on the other side who had the audacity to interrupt such a hard-won moment. Startled, he stepped back when he saw Stan standing there; errant snowflakes clinging to his jacket and knit cap. His eyes, which were usually friendly and unassuming, looked like chips of blue stone; hard and demanding answers.

"Where's Kyle?" He asked, looking over Craig's shoulder and into the apartment. "I haven't talked to him all day."

Craig leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, his heart hammering away in his chest.

"He's here, he just doesn't feel well," he replied, raising an eyebrow and not appreciating Stan's attitude at all. "I'm sure he was going to call you once he started feeling better."

"Right," Stan replied, the edge still in his voice. He raised his eyebrows and kind of shrugged his shoulders expectantly. "Are you going to let me in or not?"

"I don't think -"

"Stan? Stan, is that you?" A small voice piped up from behind Craig, and he almost groaned in exasperation. Just fucking great. In a moment, Kyle had skirted around Craig and was peering out into the hallway, his eyes back to being completely green and lighting with excitement. "Hey! Come in! It's freezing out there."

Craig stepped back as Stan walked into the apartment, his eyes narrowing as he watched Kyle converge on him and wrap his arms around his waist.

"Mm, I missed you," Kyle said, squeezing him close until Craig thought he was going to fucking lose it, right there and then. "I wanted to call you but I've felt really weird today."

"I tried to call you earlier," Stan replied, passing his hand through Kyle's curls and leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"You did?" Kyle asked, clearly puzzled. "I didn't even hear my phone go off." Looking around, his eyes landed on his phone which was still on the top of the piano. He went over and picked it up, studying the screen. "Huh, you're right. I have a missed call." Kyle glanced at Craig. "Did you hear it, Craig?"

Craig could feel Stan watching him closely as he played off the question effortlessly.

"Nope, you must have it on vibrate or something." He shrugged while smiling at Stan, keeping his tone light and friendly as possible.

"Anyway, I was worried after you left so suddenly last night," Stan said, peering into Kyle's flushed face. Lifting his hand, he held the back of it against Kyle's forehead and his face fell. "Kyle, you're running a fever! Do you have the flu or something?"

Kyle shrugged, leaning into Stan's touch like he was suddenly exhausted.

"I don't know, honestly. I've just been sleeping all day." He looked sheepish for a moment. "I even called out of work."

"That's not like you," Stan commented, his eyes darkening. His gaze flitted to Craig. "I thought you had to work tonight."

"Craig has been great, actually," Kyle interjected, looking at Craig as well, except his expression was one of complete warmth. "He stayed home so he could take care of me. I would've been screwed if he hadn't been here, Stan."

"Is that so?" Stan asked, still looking at Craig.

"Kyle's my best friend, dude," Craig said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Of course I'm going to take care of him when he's sick. That really shouldn't surprise you."

 _So mind your own fucking business, you nosy asshole,_ he seethed inwardly, even as his face remained placid. He really wasn't liking the look in Stan's eyes; sudden suspicion that didn't suit his character. Who the fuck did he think he was?

"I'm not surprised," Stan replied, evenly. He turned back to Kyle. "I'm just concerned. Something must really be wrong if you missed work, Kyle. Are you going to go to the doctor?"

"I really don't want to," Kyle said, brief discomfort evident in his features. "I mean, I will if I have to, but -"

"Kyle hates going to the doctor," Craig interrupted. "You know that."

"So? If he's sick he needs to go," Stan retorted, his words clipped. "Did you take anything to help with your fever, Kyle?"

"I took the last of the Ibuprofen earlier this afternoon."

"Does your throat hurt?"

Kyle nodded, looking down at the floor.

"Well, do you have any cough drops or soup? Do you have anything?" Stan asked, becoming noticeably impatient.

"No, okay?" Kyle asked, huffing like an obstinate child. "I'm totally unprepared for any of this crap."

"Come on, get dressed," Stan ordered, turning him around and pointing him towards his room. "I'm going to take your ass to the store so we can get some supplies."

"Are you fucking crazy?" Craig broke in, sudden panic making him forget his control. "It's cold as balls outside, and you want to take Kyle to the store?"

"If he bundles up, I'm sure he'll be fine," Stan replied, coolly. "What do you think, Kyle?"

Kyle looked between them, eyes wide.

"I don't -"

"See? He doesn't want to go," Craig snapped.

"You didn't even let him say anything!"

"Hey, listen -"

"Guys! Knock it off!" Kyle shouted, stepping between them. "Craig, I'll be fine; Stan, calm your tits. Okay?" He glanced at Craig, his face softening a little. "Honestly, it's okay. I'll put on a bunch of layers. Besides, it'll be nice getting out of the apartment after being cooped up all day, and you can actually have some time to yourself."

"But, Kyle, I really..." Craig trailed off as he studied Kyle's face, and knew that he'd lost. Becoming deflated, he regarded Stan with low-simmering rage but kept his voice neutral. "Fine, just make sure he stays warm."

"I think I can handle my own boyfriend," Stan replied, emphasizing the word 'boyfriend.' "But, thanks."

"Stan, quit being a dick," Kyle sighed, turning and disappearing down the hall. "I'll just be a few minutes."

Craig watched his retreating back and then looked at Stan, whose eyes were also locked on the redhead. Gritting his teeth, he had to fight back the urge to knock him the fuck out but he refrained, still feeling Kyle's skin sliding under his clenched and trembling hands. He'd been so close, so fucking close; in fact, Kyle's taste was still in his mouth, his aroma clinging to his fingertips -

"I'm sorry," Stan suddenly said, his tone almost back to normal, even though he sounded tired. "I didn't mean to get smart with you, man. I just started worrying when I hadn't heard from Kyle all day; that seriously isn't like him, you know?"

"Sure," Craig replied, his thoughts still with fire-drenched Kyle; his brazen, fever-heated siren. Dragging his brain back to this suddenly cold room that had Stan in it was the cruelest thing he could imagine, but he forced himself to play nice. It wouldn't do to arouse the goddamn watchdog's suspicions. "Of course. That makes perfect sense," he continued, leaning against the wall. "I would've been worried, too."

"Cool, so we're okay?" Stan asked, smiling boyishly; his hands jammed into his pockets.

"Yeah, right. Totally okay," Craig said, smiling and feeling like his face was going to split apart. "Everything is completely okay."

Stan was seriously getting tired of pretending to be okay with Kyle's living arrangements, and tonight was no fucking exception. He hadn't liked the expression on Craig's face when he'd thrown the door open; a look that bordered on murderous, those cold, grey eyes fathomless and revealing absolutely nothing. Sometimes it seemed like Craig operated on a completely separate plane from the rest of humanity, and he had no qualms about making up his own rules as he went along; Kyle getting sucked into his pull and being none the wiser.

He'd stood idly by for two years as Craig slowly inserted himself into almost every aspect of Kyle's life; his efforts starting out fairly innocuous but becoming more concerning over time. Stan could see the way Craig watched Kyle's every move; even the smallest, most seemingly unimportant details not escaping his notice. He knew his boyfriend's work schedule, how he drank his coffee, his allergies, his favorite foods; Christ, he even reminded Kyle when he needed to go to the pharmacy to pick up his insulin!

He could even forgive these weird quirks in Craig's personality if they weren't coupled with his relentless need to keep tabs on Kyle's every waking move. When Stan was out with Kyle Craig was constantly texting him to check in, or he was calling just to "ask a quick question." When they visited Craig at his job, Stan knew the entire evening would be spent under that close, watchful gaze; grey eyes boring into the sides of their skulls as they sat under ambient lighting. Stan would catch Craig's eye on occasion and the look of deep-seated hostility was so pronounced that it was almost palpable; though he was almost certain that Craig thought he was hiding his intense dislike expertly.

The most infuriating and puzzling aspect of the whole affair was that Kyle either refused to see the forest for the trees or just genuinely did not see Craig for who he was. He maintained that they were friends and that Craig just cared about him, and Stan didn't question that fact, but to what extent? Even best friends had their limits, but Craig didn't seem to understand what boundaries even were; not when it came to Kyle. It was almost like Kyle had invited a vampire into his world ten years before and now he just fucking refused to leave.

These thoughts were flooding Stan's mind as he pulled out of the store, a bag of purchases nestled on Kyle's lap; his whole body shivering even though he was wrapped in a long sleeved shirt, a hoody, a jacket, sweat pants, a scarf, mittens and his tried and true ushanka. His eyes were granny smith apple green and furiously bright, no doubt from the fever coursing through him; waves of heat pouring off his skin even in the frosty car. Stan's heart hurt to see him looking so tired, his body slumped against the car door.

"You know what?" Stan announced, making a sudden, bold decision. "You're staying at my place tonight. I'm off tomorrow and you're calling out again so I can look after you. You got it?"

"What?" Kyle asked, eyes wide and surprised. Stan was surprised to see a look of fear flit through his eyes; green shadows parting and collapsing in murky depths. "I don't know, Stan. Maybe I should just go home, you know? Craig will -"

"Fuck that guy, Kyle," Stan said, without thinking. He bit his lip, knowing that wasn't going to sit well with his temper-prone boyfriend. "Sorry, I meant -"

"I know what you meant," Kyle snapped, looking out the window. "And I really don't want to hear you criticize Craig tonight, Stan; it isn't fair."

"What do you mean, it isn't fair? The guy didn't even want you to go out to get medicine!"

"Quit being melodramatic," Kyle replied, crossing his arms. "He didn't want me going out in the cold; I'm sure he would've gone out to get anything I asked for, and besides, he fucking took care of me all day. How can you hate on him after that?"

Stan clenched his hands on the steering wheel, trying to appear diplomatic but failing spectacularly; he couldn't help it, Craig just fucking rubbed him the wrong way. There was just something about him, something he couldn't pinpoint; but it felt profoundly off, like dogs and cats fucking each other.

"I'm not trying to hate on him, dude," he said, slowly. "I just think he tries to, I don't know, control you too much. Honestly, I don't know how you can stand it, being as independent as you are."

"We look out for each other," Kyle replied, his voice muffled as he tucked his mouth into his scarf. "I'm the first to admit that Craig is abrasive, but he's never tried to control me, Stan. I don't even know where you come up with this stuff."

"Fine," Stan replied, not wanting to concede but knowing that he was talking to a brick wall wearing a green ushanka. "Will you spend the night with me, at least? It would give me some peace of mind."

Kyle considered his request and then finally shrugged, his hand coming to rest on Stan's leg; squeezing gently.

"Sure, but let me call Craig so he won't wait up for me, okay? I don't want him to worry."

That night, Stan held Kyle close in the darkness, the fretful redhead pressed to his chest and moving restlessly every few moments; moaning in his sleep every now and again. He tried not to worry but it was hard, and all he could do was hug him and stroke his hair, Kyle's fever raging and sweat saturating the red, fragrant curls. On the bedside table, Stan noticed Kyle's phone vibrating every few minutes, the display illuminating time and again. In a moment of supreme irritation, Stan finally reached over and unlocked it, thankful that Kyle never had a problem letting him know what his code was.

A deep and unsettling feeling passed through Stan when he opened up Kyle's texts and saw that every single one was from Craig, asking him how he was or just checking in; every message coming in within minutes of the others:

 ** _Hey, I hope you're feeling okay. Let me know if you need anything._**

 ** _You're being so quiet. Please call me when you get this._**

 ** _I'll be going to bed shortly but I'll answer if you need to talk._**

 ** _Are you going to work tomorrow? Did you need me to get anything for you?_**

They just continued; a relentless onslaught of inquiries that woke up the sleeping beast in Stan's heart that's sole job was to protect Kyle. On the surface, Craig seemed like he just wanted to take care of Kyle, but there was so much unspoken malice here that Stan just couldn't name; he could only say that it existed.

Or maybe, just maybe, Stan thought, scrolling through the stacks of madness again. Maybe it's so much more than that.

He'd always harbored a secret opinion that Craig's interest in Kyle transcended mere friendship, but he'd never been able to prove it. As far as he knew, Craig had never made any untoward gestures; had never pushed for anything beyond what he and Kyle already had. And yet, the way he looked at Kyle, his eyes didn't just watch him, no; Craig's eyes devoured Kyle. What if...?

Stan's thoughts were interrupted by little whimpers breaking through Kyle's lips, and he tried to sooth him with soft kisses and reassuring that he wasn't alone, but Kyle sat up anyway; sweat falling down the sides of his face. He was breathing heavily, almost gasping, like he'd been awoken from a nightmare that stayed with him even after he'd opened his eyes.

"Kyle, are you okay?" Stan whispered, his faint voice stealing through the dark. He tried to be soft, not wanting to frighten Kyle further.

"I don't know," Kyle murmured, his hand pushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead. "I feel like I'm burning from the inside out, Stan; all the time. Everything inside of me feels wrong."

"Can I do anything to help?"

Kyle slumped back into Stan's arms, his body feeling strangely weightless and foreign as he slid his hands up Kyle's back. In a moment, Kyle's lips found Stan's throat in the dark, and he was kissing him fervently; the heat radiating off of him and threatening to burn him away.

"Distract me from the pain," Kyle begged. "Please, Stan."

"I don't -"

"Please," Kyle sobbed, fingers digging into Stan's skin with unnatural strength.

"Okay, calm down," Stan said, kissing his mouth and shifting so Kyle was beneath him.

They kissed deeply, their hungry mouths meeting and sliding together. Stan almost hissed at how warm Kyle was, and he almost felt like the sun itself was cradled in his arms; Kyle's body loose and pliable as Stan prepared him, lube-slicked fingers sliding into a heat so intense it almost singed his skin. Spreading Kyle's legs apart, he reveled in the velvety soft skin draped over his forearms as he pushed inside, tiny gasps escaping the mouth of his lover there in the dark.

Stan moved inside of Kyle slowly, delicately, not wanting to hurt the aching body he loved so much. Every fiber of his being was wrapped up in him, and he'd sooner break his own body to pieces before doing anything to harm him. Sometimes he worried that his love bordered on becoming like Craig's, if you could even call that love, but he couldn't help it; Stan had given his heart to Kyle so long ago, and he no intention of relinquishing him, not to anyone. He continued to thrust, the exquisite friction building and climbing even as Stan noticed tiny differences that woke up his protective instincts.

Kyle felt different in his arms that night; lighter and almost like he was going to disappear any moment. It went beyond him being sick, no, Stan could feel the change on a deeper level, and worry flooded him even as he started to unravel; hot pleasure snaking through him as he breathed deeply of Kyle's heady, intoxicating scent. He'd made love to this body too many times not to realize that something was off, that something had been altered or stolen, but he just couldn't pinpoint the change; he just knew that it was undeniably there.

It wasn't until he was coming and Kyle was gasping and writhing beneath him that Stan saw the physical manifestation of his suspicions, a ruby glow emanating from Kyle's eyes for just a moment; a scarlet fire blazing in green forests, decimating them. It was there for the briefest of moments and then it was gone, lost in the chilled darkness as Stan held Kyle close; wild terror rising up in his heart that disarmed him completely, stealing his very breath away.


	9. Chapter 9

I'm sorry if this chapter is boring and totally sucks, lol. Vacation burnout and all. HOWEVER, I hope you enjoy it and feel fit to give me some feedback, bc that shit rocks. PS: Oh, and can I just say that any chance I have to write a part with Damien in it fills me w/ infinite joy. I seriously have a boner for that cocky demon, and he's so much fucking fun to write. Never change, lad.

 **And I know**  
 **The scariest part is letting go**  
 **'Cause love is a ghost you can't control**  
 **I promise you the truth can't hurt us now**  
 **So let the words slip out of your mouth**

 **-The Words, Christina Perri**

* * *

 **Nine and a Half Years Prior**

A birthday party.

His mother decided to throw him a goddamn birthday party of all things...and she invited so many fucking people; too many people. How was he supposed to survive through the day when he was still having difficulty dealing with the crowds at school?

Craig studied himself in the bathroom mirror, the sounds of party preparations floating up the stairs and assaulting his ears. He wasn't particularly concerned with looking nice, not really, but that didn't mean he was going to present a sloppy appearance; that just wasn't his style, regardless of how shitty he felt.

He'd finally gotten a haircut after Kyle had gently made a suggestion and had offered to go with him. Craig had declined, of course, but he'd gone, his black hair back to being neatly styled; long bangs swept off to the side of his forehead. His grey eyes were resolute that morning, almost like chips of stone; guarded but set and steady. He was ready to go to battle with society.

It was late in January, nearly the heart of winter, and Craig was dressed for an unnecessary, over-the-top indoor affair; dark denim jeans and a black button down shirt with the sleeves pushed up. He liked to maintain a casual look while not appearing messy; he couldn't stand it when his inner turmoil registered on the outside. That just wouldn't do.

Really, none of this would do; this party, all of the guests set to arrive in less than an hour, his parents insisting that he "rejoin the land of the living" and that "Tweek would've wanted him to celebrate his birthday with his friends." How the fuck would they know what Tweek would've wanted, the presumptuous assholes? Craig had noticed that it was just too easy for the living to speak for the dead; inserting their thoughts into the mouths of those that couldn't speak for themselves.

Leaving the bathroom, Craig went back to his bedroom while rolling his eyes at the chirpy voices of his mom and sister downstairs; such revelry over a whole lot of bullshit. Stepping into the room, he almost lost his composure when he saw Kyle standing there; the mid-morning sunlight flush against his back from his place in front of the window.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you startled me," Craig breathed, coming into the room. He cocked an eyebrow at Kyle. "What are you doing here? That dumbass party doesn't start for like an hour."

Kyle smiled and shrugged, his eyes still a little soft with sleep; dusky clovers.

"I wanted to talk to you before everyone else showed up."

"Of course you did," Craig replied, dragging a hand through his freshly-cut hair.

"It's nice to know you're in such a good mood on your big day," Kyle said, digging through a messenger bag at his side.

"Yeah, I'm the fucking guest of honor," Craig said, annoyance washing through him at his lack of choice in the matter. He didn't give a shit about his birthday, so really, this party was to appease his parents; nothing more, nothing less.

"Here," Kyle said, plunking a wrapped package on the bed. "Open it."

"Jesus, I told you not to get me anything."

"Yeah, you did. Since when do I listen to you, though?"

"Good fucking question," Craig said, snatching the package up and eyeing it in the silver-tinged morning sun; white and fresh from the snow continuously falling outside. Tearing into the blue wrapping paper, he pushed it aside to reveal a box with the picture of a vase or something on the front. He glanced at Kyle, who looked overly excited.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's a diffuser," Kyle said, voice bright as he took the box from Craig's hands. "And," he continued, rooting around in his messenger bag again, "there's more." He handed a bottle to Craig.

"Daffodil oil," Craig said, studying the bottle. He glanced up at Kyle, who was watching closely, but now his face had taken on a more serious cast.

"I did some research, and smells have the capability of triggering memories," Kyle explained, setting the diffuser on Craig's bedside table. "In fact, smells and memory are very closely linked. Something to do with the amygdala and olfactory memories," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I just thought this could be...I don't know, helpful."

Craig looked at the bottle for a moment and then slowly tucked it into his pocket, a strange feeling beginning to well in his chest. After a moment, he realized that he was a little touched; confused and irritable, but touched.

"I could just, you know, smell the actual flower," he said, glancing at the diffuser box; suddenly not wanting to look at Kyle directly but still keeping tabs in his peripheral.

"Yeah, but I'm sure it gets pretty pricey buying hot house daffodils in the middle of winter," Kyle replied, twiddling with the edge of his coat. "Besides, the oil has a stronger scent, and..." He shrugged, his eyes slightly downcast. "Did I miss the mark?"

Craig fought back his natural inclination to make a snide remark, opting instead to shove his hands in his pockets; his fingers closing around the tiny bottle now resting there.

"Thanks," he said, his voice flat and a little stiff. Warmth and sentimentality were really not his stock and trade. If anything, sweet words left a bitter residue on his tongue.

Kyle looked up, shock registering in his eyes. After a moment, a slow smile stole across his face and Craig almost couldn't stomach how happy he looked. Abruptly, he decided to put the kibosh on such a heartfelt, drippy moment before it got away from him completely.

"My parents gave me their present early, too," he said, gruffly. Striding over to his desk he picked up something and brought it over to Kyle.

"A camera?" He asked. "That's awesome!"

"I guess," Craig said, leaning back against the wall, his hand returning to the pocket with the daffodil oil. "It's a replacement for the one Tweek lost," he said, smirking.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he dropped my old one into the ocean on accident."

"When did you two go to the ocean together?"

"Last year, back before he got too sick to travel," Craig said, hurting at the memory of watching Tweek become frail; seeing him hurt just to turn over in bed. "Tweek always loved the ocean, especially lighthouses and tugboats, though he could never really explain their appeal to me."

"Maybe because lighthouses are kind of, I don't know, hopeful?" Kyle suggested. "I guess they could be considered reassuring or something; steadfast."

"Now I think you're reading into things too much," Craig replied, rolling his eyes. "I think Tweek just liked blinking lights. Anyway, we were out on a boat in the Chesapeake Bay and he dropped my camera right over the side. Now there's a school of fish out there somewhere making memories."

"Are you actually going to use it today?" Kyle asked, fiddling with the buttons; a sudden flash taking him by surprise.

Craig shrugged.

"Don't know, I really don't see the point," he said. "I think it was my parents not so subtle way of telling me to get a fucking life and quit isolating so much. At least, that's the impression I got."

"Well, fine, if you're so reluctant, I'll be the photographer then," Kyle said, suddenly lifting the camera and taking a quick shot of Craig, who just stood there looking completely bored and nonplussed.

"Whatever," he replied. "Doesn't make a difference to me."

Craig watched Kyle continue to mess with the camera, the eastern morning light falling through the windows and silvering his curls; the bottle of daffodil oil curled up and resting coolly in his palm. Leave it to him to find a way to give Craig the gift of sunshine, neatly contained in a little brown bottle; capable of being tucked away and carried around in his pocket.

The party turned out about as well as Craig could expect. Somehow, he managed to keep his anxiety in check, though it was a trial being surrounded by so many people for so long. Mostly, he kept to himself and maintained a reserved facade; speaking only when spoken to and even then his contributions to conversation were minimal.

In a flurry of smiling faces, music, chatter, and warm, crushing bodies, the only thing Craig could focus on clearly was Kyle and the camera, bright flashes pulsing on occasion among the din and crowd. He snapped a picture of Craig, scowling and resistant, when his mother and father presented him with his giant, ostentatious birthday cake; an involved layered affair with mounds of buttercream frosting and sparkler candles; his name and the number 14 emblazoned on the side in cerulean icing.

"Craig, honey, can't you smile at least a little?" His mother pleaded, fluffy blonde hair catching some of the golden cast from the candles; the rest of the room plunged into darkness as a roomful of people came down from the high of serenading him with an off-key rendition of 'happy birthday.'

Craig didn't reply, and instead decided to scowl deeper; refusing to be a puppet. It was at that moment that Kyle took the picture, the flash dazzling his eyes for a moment. Fighting down his irritation, Craig noticed that Stan was right beside Kyle, their shoulders brushing together like they did when they sat together during lunch. Looking away, he picked up the cake knife like he wanted to impale the sugary monstrosity sitting before him.

"No, not yet, honey," Mrs. Tucker said, gently taking the knife from Craig's hand. "Let's open presents first."

Craig gritted his teeth and stared at the pile of gifts; a hateful mountain of shiny paper and bows taunting him.

"Here, this one's from your grandma," his mom said, handing Craig an envelope.

Tearing the paper apart, Craig lifted out a card; a guinea pig adorning the front wearing a colorful hat and exclaiming 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' in garish red letters. Opening it up, a check for $100.00 fell out into his hand.

"Dude, remember when we talked you into giving us your birthday money to start a pan flute band?" Stan asked, resting his chin on Kyle's shoulder as he grinned at Craig; dark, blue eyes amused.

"I told you never to bring that up," Craig snapped, slapping the card shut with the check tucked safely inside.

"Oh, come on, it's been 4 years," Stan said, laughing.

Craig's mood continued to sour at not only the reminder of the Peru incident, but also due to Stan's incessant need to invade Kyle's personal space, though he couldn't be sure why the fuck he should even notice or care. His irritation reached a critical level when he saw Kyle, his cheeks pink and his eyes filled with an enigmatic expression, shush Stan and lean into him just a little; the gesture small but smacking of hidden meaning.

"I'm done," Craig said, abruptly. "I don't want to open any more presents right now."

"But, Craig -" his mother started to speak when Craig narrowed his eyes at her, effectively ending the discussion.

"Let's cut the cake, okay?" He said, his words as sharp as the cake knife he brandished; the silver slicing through white frosting with an ease that filled Craig with temporary contentment. He half expected red jelly to start seeping through, muddling the cake and sugar into a syrup-soaked mess. For a moment, his eyes locked with Stan's as he continued to slice into the cake; the other boy's gaze unaffected and serene.

"Hold on a second, let me get a picture of you cutting the cake," Kyle piped up, coming closer. "I'm so glad you got a camera Craig; now you can actually remember everything that happened today."

"Yeah, because this is an occasion I seriously want to remember," Craig replied, slipping a slice out of the cake and laying it on a plate. "A party I didn't fucking want to have in the first place."

"Language, Craig," Mrs. Tucker said, passing out plates of cake to relatives and Craig's friends; Clyde and Token and Jimmy lining up first for their respective pieces.

"I'm just saying," Craig said, annoyed that he was still freakishly aware of Stan's proximity to Kyle, who didn't seem affected one way or another. The bottle of daffodil oil seemed like it weighed a million pounds at that moment; fairly dragging him down just by being in his pocket.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Kyle said, reaching into his own pocket and plucking something out; two pieces of rectangular paper. "I know you said you didn't want to open anymore presents, but I figure you won't mind this; it's not like they're wrapped."

Grudgingly, Craig relinquished the cake knife and accepted what Kyle handed him, seeing that they were tickets once he was able to study them in the dining room lights which his mother finally remembered to turn back on.

"A classic film festival?" He asked, eyes widening. He glanced up at Kyle, who smiled back.

"It's next month in Denver," Kyle said. "They're even showing Sunset Boulevard." He blushed a little and looked down at the floor. "I know I gave you two tickets, but trust me, you don't have to -"

"Dude, are you asking Tucker out on a date in front of everybody?" Cartman broke in, coming over to claim the largest piece of cake; his greedy hands reaching out and picking up the paper plate. Hungrily, he stabbed his fork into the spongy edible and took a huge bite, flecks of frosting coating the corners of his sneering mouth.

Kyle just stared at him, a look of utter annoyance and disgust registering in his features as he watched Cartman engulf cake at an alarming rate.

"No, fat ass, I was just -"

"I figured Stan would be your first choice once your faggoty ass finally decided to come out of the closet," Cartman continued, shoving a dollop of frosting in between his lips. "Didn't you think so too, Stan?"

Now Kyle didn't just look irritated, he looked completely humiliated and blindsided, his face blooming cranberry as he sputtered for a response; Stan open mouthed and conspicuously at a loss for words beside him. For whatever reason, the thing that got under Craig's skin the most through this whole debacle was the fact that Kyle had blushed when it came to Stan, but his coloring hadn't changed at all when Craig had been the topic of discussion. Once again, he couldn't help but wonder why the fuck that would even filter through his radar.

"What, aren't you going to defend your boyfriend's honor?" Cartman taunted, his focus now centered on Stan, who just continued to mouth wordlessly as Kyle wilted at his side.

Horrified, Craig could see the beginnings of tears welling up in Kyle's eyes, a fact he could hardly believe; Kyle never folded to Cartman like that. He always went down fighting unless Cartman was able to hit a nerve head-on, which clearly was the case in this situation. Rage rose in Craig's gut at the sight of those tears welling against the green, caustic like acid and completely unexpected. Along with the anger came a feeling of weird calmness too, and Craig suddenly decided that if Stan wasn't going to step in, he would have to just take the reins; besides, he hadn't wanted the fucking fat ass bully at his party anyway. He always just seemed to show up whenever anyone had a party, regardless of whether he was wanted or not; which, clearly he wasn't.

Cartman was reaching for another piece of cake when Craig's hand momentarily brushed over the cake knife, but in a split second his fingers skittered away; choosing instead to grab a rather large chunk of cake, and in a flash Craig had lifted it and was shoving it into Cartman's face with vicious force.

"You wanted another fucking piece of cake, huh? Well, here you go," he said, his voice eerily calm and smooth. Cartman fought against him as he continued to cram the cake down his throat; sputtering and gasping for breath as the party imploded around them.

"Craig, stop!" Mr. Tucker barked, coming over to grab his son's arm; his eyes registering shock when Craig shook him off and drew back, his eyes still resting on Cartman as he coughed up chunks of cake.

"Consider that a gift from Tweek too, you dirty prick," Craig said, wiping his hands off on a napkin. After a moment, he turned and left the table; the party plunged into silence as he ascended the stairs to his room.

"Hey, can I come in?" Kyle asked, knocking at the already open door; his foot poised on the threshold.

Craig looked up from his perch on the bed, where he'd been watching the snow continue to fall in silence; the last party goer pulling away from the curb, break lights flashing a little as they skidded on some black ice. He'd actively refused to come back downstairs after he'd force-fed Cartman the cake he'd seemed to want so badly; the party having broken up not too long afterward. He was actually momentarily surprised that Kyle had stuck around even after everyone else had left, but upon further thought, Craig wasn't surprised in the slightest; not really.

Craig shrugged and looked back at the night quickly descending over South Park, the snow drifting down and the balloons tied to the mailbox dancing in the zephyr bringing the chill down from Canada.

"Do whatever you want," he replied.

"I just wanted to thank you for stepping in with Cartman," Kyle said, his voice drawing closer even as Craig refused to look at him. "I'm just sorry he ruined your party."

"That fucking party was ruined before it started," Craig snapped. "Besides, I wasn't defending your honor or anything; I was finally getting back at that fat fuck for talking shit about Tweek."

"Oh," Kyle replied, softly. "Well, either way...I'm glad you did it."

Craig just grunted as he felt the bed shift from Kyle's weight settling on it. His hand drifted into his pocket and clenched around the bottle of oil, and with a rush of sudden irritation Craig drew it out and threw it behind him.

"Put that on the bedside table," he said. "I don't know why I was carrying the damn thing around with me."

Silently, Craig could feel movement behind him, but he kept looking out the window. His mind was working a mile a minute, and he couldn't make sense of his own damn thoughts; flurries of images plaguing him: the candles glinting on the cake knife, his grandmother's card, Cartman's sneering mouth, Stan brushing against Kyle so casually. Why did he keep noticing this shit?! His whole life was a series of photographs that kept piling up and they created nothing but confusion; his whole existence becoming unraveled as Kyle flitted in and out at his leisure; a tiny goldfish that had effectively shifted the tides into fucking anarchy.

Craig kept waiting for Kyle to say something, because he always had something to say, but the silence stretched on until it reached an unbearable length; almost to the point where it seemed to have actual weight. Finally, he couldn't take it another moment and he was turning around, his fury at the ill-fated birthday party consuming him along with his inexplicable confusion; compounding the state of agony he'd been plunged into ever since Tweek had shuffled off his mortal coil.

"Who do you think you are?" He asked, voice poised on the edge of complete unbridled rage.

"I don't know what you mean," Kyle replied, openly taken aback at this sudden inquiry; large eyes wide with question. Instead of placing the bottle on the nightstand he was fiddling with it; the brown glass stark against his pale fingers.

"You just decided one day that you were going to barge into my life," Craig continued, standing now. "You didn't even think to ask me, no, you just decided to turn me into your project, and now everything is going to shit and yet you're still here; sitting there acting like you're completely innocent."

"That isn't true, Craig. I -"

"And when I ask you to give me a good fucking reason for basically taking me hostage, you refuse to answer me. I get the 'I don't want to talk about it' bullshit and I'm just supposed to accept it without question, but I have to tell you everything; fucking everything." Craig licked his lips, the rage rising now as it swirled with confusion and sadness; every emotion tumbled through him in a jumbled mess until he was a tempest that couldn't be controlled.

Kyle's bottom lip trembled as he resolutely stared at Craig, his green eyes bright with their own fire; a flush rising on his cheeks as his hands rolled the bottle back and forth, back and forth. Coming forward, Craig ripped the bottle out of his hands and shook it in his face.

"Just fucking tell me what your deal is, Kyle," he said, his voice shaking with indignation. "I think you owe me that much after fucking with my emotions for the last 4 months."

Kyle stood and hugged himself, seemingly protecting himself from Craig, from his demands, from everything; slim arms crossed over his chest and pressing tightly. Copper highlights interwoven through scarlet hair glowed fiercely, only serving to elevate Craig's umbrage, and he squeezed the bottle of oil until he thought it might crack in two.

"It hasn't been my intention to fuck with you, Craig," he said, softly. "I wanted to be there for you because I know you needed someone."

Craig started to speak but Kyle held up a hand, his face commanding silence; completely.

"Let me finish, please," he continued. "I know you'll argue with me, and maybe I shouldn't have made that decision for you, but I did, and I'm sorry if I overstepped your boundaries." Turning away, he sighed until he shuddered, tears collecting in his voice when he spoke again. "I also thought you could help me, and I realize now that that was unbelievably selfish, given the circumstances."

"What are you even talking about?" Craig asked, fighting the urge to come up behind Kyle and take a hold of his frail shoulders; shake him until he forced the answers out.

Kyle took a deep breath and turned to face Craig, his face open and clean like the morning; devoid of pretense or secrets as he spoke measured words into the quiet.

"Craig, I'm gay," he said. "I've been trying to come to terms with it for so long, and I thought that you could help me understand, because you always seemed so happy with Tweek; you seemed so sure." A tear slipped down that he furiously brushed away. "I guess I just wanted to feel that kind of peace."

Craig could only stare at him, wondering once again how Kyle could be so smart in terms of academics but so hopelessly blind and naive when it came to the ways of the world and human relationships. Hell, Craig could barely navigate his own way through life, but Kyle just seemed to be stumbling through the dark, and he almost had to laugh at his fumbling attempts at artifice; anyone with half a brain could see that Kyle wasn't exactly into girls. Who was he kidding?

"First of all," Craig started, the bottle warm like a lit light bulb as he continued toying with it. "I'm bisexual, not gay, and what makes you think I have any kind of peace, Kyle?" He threw his arms wide. "Do I fucking look peaceful?"

Kyle shrugged, his eyes dimming now; becoming blank.

"You seemed like you were with him."

"Yeah, and now he's dead, and instead of getting to just work through my shit, now I have to help you through yours, too."

"That isn't fair," Kyle said, clearly hurt. "I'm not trying to -"

"Why didn't you go to Stan with this, anyway? He's your fucking best friend."

The cranberry flush from before came back to stain Kyle's cheeks at the mention of Stan, and this served to effectively push Craig over the edge. Coming closer, he advanced on Kyle until he'd backed him up against the bedside table; eyes terror-struck and pleading. He appeared a frightened animal, and as Craig stood before him, Kyle's scent, apples and spice, surrounded him and he felt the first, hateful stirrings of desire; the sensation almost making him shudder because it had been so long since he'd felt anything like that. On its heels was shame, though; how could he feel anything like that for someone other than Tweek? It had to be a fucking mistake.

"Get the fuck out," Craig seethed. "Now."

"W-what? Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. Just go. I want to fucking be alone for awhile." Craig managed to tear himself away from Kyle, though a savage part of him had enjoyed seeing his fear and smelling his scent; a secret part that Craig never knew existed. Turning away, he went back to the window until the atmosphere in the room changed and a stillness passed through; when he looked up, Kyle was gone. On the bed, Craig could see that he'd left the camera behind, the lamplight glinting off its silver shell.

Craig was starting to lose himself, he could feel it. Scrolling through the pictures on his camera, he was beginning to see that something had changed without him realizing it; that falling sometimes happened in stages when your mind was preoccupied with other things. It wasn't until you woke up one morning and suddenly the world had taken on a different color and feeling, that you realized what had been happening all along; that you fell when you least suspected it.

As the diffuser worked softly on his bedside table, the heady scent of daffodils drifting into the air and obliterating the apple aroma Kyle had left behind, Craig looked at the pictures over and over. They were typical to begin with, Craig looking bored and annoyed next to his relatives, posing against his will with Clyde and Token; a cute picture of his mom kissing the top of his head as he rolled his eyes. But as he continued to scroll, he noticed something, a change, and it only served to reinforce a longing that was fast and away becoming something bigger; albeit against his will, of course.

There seemed to be an excessive number of pictures of Stan, and most of them were candid; him looking away or talking to someone. At one point, Kyle had clearly coaxed him into taking pictures together, and there was a sickening number of them with their faces pressed together, making silly expressions. But one picture in particular stood out to Craig above the rest: it was another picture of the two of them, but while Stan was gazing into the camera, blue eyes wide and clear, Kyle was looking at him, and there was a storm in his eyes; tearing them apart. If Craig had to guess, it was a look of secret, painful wanting; an emotion so powerful it had the capability of consuming its host if it wasn't acted upon.

Kyle had said that he could never become obsessed with someone, but Craig begged to differ; a picture was worth a thousand words, wasn't it? And so many pictures, too. Craig's suspicions were clearly not just the product of paranoia; Kyle was in love with Stan. All the proof Craig needed was in his hands.

Scrolling back, Craig stopped on a picture of Kyle alone, and his finger drifted over red curls laid against a white forehead, over green eyes filled with so many secret longings. Somehow or another, he'd started something that Craig could barely wrap his head around, though he had the presence of mind to know that certain things crept up on you before you could protect yourself; and this situation was no exception. It would seem that Kyle was going to get more than he'd bargained for when he'd walked into Craig's room so many months before; a flame had been ignited that was slowly growing until it couldn't help but consume them both.

 **Present Day**

The years always seemed to melt away when Craig was looking at his picture collection, and all of a sudden his beloved wasn't miles away anymore; no, he was right beside him, there in his late-night room as the stars and moon coasted by into infinity. When Kyle had left with Stan, Craig had immediately felt like his heart had been ripped out and was left bleeding and broken on the floor. In times like this, he always turned to his photos.

Kneeling beside his bed, Craig pulled out the closest album he could find among hundreds; some of the pictures still waiting in multiple shoe boxes to be catalogued and tucked away in their own books. Sitting close to the lamplight, Craig opened the photo album and almost sighed out loud; and for a moment he felt like a heroin addict taking their first hit in the morning. This was absolute perfection.

Photos of Kyle stretching back years could be found among the musty pages of the albums, some beginning to yellow with age and others so fresh and crisp they looked like they'd been taken yesterday. Craig was aware that he could store all of his treasures online, but there was just something about being able to pick up the object of his desire and hold it in his hands; trace his fingers over red curls and white skin and slender limbs, as well as those irresistible pink lips. Lips that he had finally had the opportunity to kiss, though they were quickly stolen away much too soon.

Putting the album away, Craig went to the closet and pulled out one of the older ones; pages beginning to yellow with time. Opening it, he found the ticket stubs from the film festival he'd gone to with Kyle when he was 14, and he fondly looked at the pictures of that long ago birthday party; little kid Kyle so awkward and lanky in his corduroys and green sweater. He still had all the selfies Kyle had taken with Stan, though Stan had been excised from the pictures, of course.

Craig had covertly begun to take pictures of Kyle with the little silver camera very soon after that party, and his collection had swelled over time. If Craig chose, he could spend hours, days, possibly weeks, going through all of the pictures and watching Kyle grow from a scrawny adolescent to the young man he was today. He was posing in some of the pictures, a shy smile on his face, but mostly the photos had been taken secretly; late night images of his Kyle through his bedroom windows undressing for bed, readying for a shower, even touching himself. Craig had captured everything, down to the smallest detail.

He'd even managed to capture the evolution of Kyle's relationship with Stan, the first sticky kisses on the sidewalk in front of the school, holding hands at the movies in the dark, the touches and caresses in Stan's car during high school; Kyle's gasping mouth as the windows began to fog. Craig had been beside him every step of the way, whether Kyle realized it or not, from the very beginning. His heart had died a little when Kyle had first called him about finally confessing to Stan, and Craig had had to pretend that he was ecstatic when Stan had admitted he felt the same; their love essentially beginning on the back of Craig's misery.

Craig had waited for 10 years to find a crack in Kyle's heart, but it never appeared; there was never a place for him, not as long as Stan was in the picture. He'd kept hoping for the impossible, that Kyle would come to his senses and be led to the truth on his own, but Craig had quickly discovered that that was a day that was never going to come; not unless he helped it along. In fact, the main reason he'd gone to Damien in the first place had to do with the fact that Kyle was moving too far away; straight into Stan's waiting arms.

"He actually asked Kyle to move in," Craig said aloud, his fingers trailing over one of his photos; Kyle laughing as the sun glowed behind him, exactly 5 years before after they'd just graduated.

Stan had always played it fast and loose with Kyle's heart, at least that's how Craig saw the situation, so for him to actually try to make a commitment was extremely disconcerting. And Kyle had actually considered it! Eventually, he'd said no, that he wasn't ready, but still...

It was the only way he could keep him, Craig had decided. He'd visited Damien once before he made his final decision, but when he did, he knew he'd do just about anything to keep his hold.

 _Kyle is mine,_ he thought savagely. _He's always fucking been mine._

"Then prove it," a dark voice interjected, cutting through the stillness and making Craig slam back against the wall; stunned and terrified.

Damien sat on Craig's bed, regarding him with eyes resembling an autopsy; long legs crossed while resting his handsome face in one slim hand. Smirking, he brushed some smooth, black hair out of his eyes.

"Quite a collection you have there," he commented, gesturing at Craig's photo albums; stacked up and littering the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Craig choked out, heart hammering away while he tried to catch his breath.

"If Kyle is yours, prove it," Damien repeated, eyes flashing a vivid carmine.

"You already fucking said that," Craig snapped, beginning to gather his collection and putting it back in the closet. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean," Damien said, voice low and dangerous. "Claim him, Craig."

"Claim him? You mean -"

"You had him beneath you tonight," Damien went on, standing now. "He was in your sights, and you still failed." He tsked a little. "Craig, that just won't do."

"You think I'm happy about it?" Craig replied, beginning to feel savage at the demon's baiting. "His little boyfriend fucking showed up and ruined everything. I'm sure you're aware of that too since you seem to know everything."

"Ah, yes. The boyfriend. Stan, is it? The dark haired motherfucker with the filthy thoughts," Damien mused, drawing a sharp-nailed finger down his face. "He enjoyed what escaped your grasp tonight, by the way," he said, laughing when a stricken look overtook Craig's features.

Craig stood and strode over to the bed, where he shoved the rest of the albums underneath.

"Are you just fucking here to shove this bullshit in my face?" He asked, then looked around, his face a mask of confusion. "How did you get in here anyway?"

"Are you really asking the son of Satan how he got into your minimum security apartment?" Damien asked, one eyebrow raised. "Christ, a teenager who knows how to pick a lock could've gotten in here. Anyway," he continued, waving his hand, "I'm here to tell you that the substance I gave you is working, but you need to seal the deal if you want to complete the process."

"Seal the deal," Craig repeated, making a face. "What an artless thing to say."

"Says the man who had to strike a deal with a demon in order to get lucky," Damien sneered, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, fuck you. I already told you Stan fucking interrupted us!"

"Then take the distraction out of the goddamn equation," Damien retorted, advancing on Craig.

Craig blanched, the brutal, unforgiving look on Damien's face completely taking him aback.

"W-what are you saying right now?"

"You know exactly what I'm saying," Damien replied. "Now do it."

"I can't do that," Craig said, faintly. "If it were that easy why would I have come to you in the first place?"

Damien smirked, the expression resembling a gaping knife wound.

"Because, with my influence running through Kyle's bloodstream, he won't hate you for killing Stan," he said, practically giddy. "He'll thank you for it because it'll clear up any conflict he might have felt. He'd be all yours, forever."

"Not if I end up in prison for the next 25 years."

"Don't question my influence, Craig," Damien said, a note of warning in his tone. "The justice system is the least of your concerns in all of this." He smiled. "Besides, you had to realize that you'd have to take care of Kyle's one true love before having him all to yourself. He wasn't just going to disappear on his own."

"His one true love," Craig said, his voice almost lost at the sound of the words. "He isn't, though. Is he?"

"What do you think?" Damien purred, his voice warm and cloying even as it reeked of condescension. "You didn't come to me because you ever thought you had a chance on your own, right?"

He was burning up. Every inch of his body was deluged in fire; every nerve, every fiber, every drop of blood. When he woke up that morning, safe and wrapped in Stan's loving arms, Kyle was consumed in a heat so intense that the sweat was pouring off of him and soaking the sheets. Gasping, he sat up and trembled from the pain, a faint moan escaping from his lips as he pleaded silently for a reprieve from his suffering.

"Kyle?" Stan asked, his early morning voice cracked and rough with sleep.

"Stan," Kyle whimpered, hugging himself. Vaguely, he could feel aches radiating from his thighs and backside. "Did we...?"

Stan sat up and rubbed Kyle's back, his touch only compounding his misery and making him arch away.

"You woke up late last night," Stan murmured, seemingly not noticing Kyle's discomfort and stroking his skin again. "And you wanted to, well..."

"Why can't I remember anything these days?" Kyle asked, shoving a hand through his sweat-licked hair. "I can remember bits and pieces of the days but sometimes it just becomes a blur, especially at night, and then my mind just goes blank."

Pressing a hand over his chest, Kyle could feel the heat burning hottest there; right in the vicinity of his heart, which seemed to constantly be racing. There was a deep ache inside of him, but it seemed to transcend the physical, and he could feel it in his mind, possibly in his soul; like something fundamental was missing that he needed to find. Whimpering, he covered his eyes as tears sprang up.

"Let me take you to the doctor, Kyle," Stan said, holding him close. "Please, you're even more feverish than yesterday, and -" He broke off, and when Kyle glanced at him, he saw that Stan looked acutely uncomfortable.

"What?" He asked. "What were you going to say?"

"There was something off about you last night," Stan said, carefully. "I thought I saw, god, how do I even say this?"

"Just fucking spit it out!"

"Your eyes, Kyle," Stan continued. "When we were, you know, they changed colors."

Kyle drew back, utterly confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but when I was finishing, your eyes turned red." Stan shrugged, appearing sheepish. "I couldn't fucking believe it."

"Neither can I," Kyle snapped, rolling out of bed. "Have you been smoking with Kenny again?"

"No!" Stan exclaimed, standing up and stretching the kinks out of his back. "I haven't smoked in over a month, Kyle. You know that!"

"Right, but you're going to sit there and tell me that my eyes became red while we were fucking, okay," Kyle replied, quickly getting dressed. "You are so fucking full of it, Stan; I swear to god."

"I'm just telling you what I saw!"

"Save it," Kyle said, walking out of Stan's room and into the kitchen, where Kenny was standing at the counter, stirring sugar into a cup of coffee.

"'Sup?" He asked, looking rough as the morning sunlight filtered in; striking off of his messy blonde hair. He was in his usual wifebeater and low-slung jeans; tattoos snaking up his muscular arms.

"Good morning," Kyle sighed, eyeing the cup of coffee and momentarily able to forget the heat dripping through his blood; scorching him until he wanted to scream. "Can I have some?" He asked, pointing at the cup.

"Of course," Kenny replied, pulling a mug out of a cabinet. "Just make sure to leave enough for Bebe, okay?"

"Bebe's here?" Kyle asked, pouring coffee into his cup; not bothering to cover his surprise. "You're seeing her again?"

"Yeah, he is," Stan said, walking into the kitchen. "Those two can't fucking stay away from each other."

"My ears are burning," a bubbly voice interjected from the vicinity of the hallway. In a moment, Bebe came into the room, blonde hair in disarray and wearing a long t-shirt; no doubt one of Kenny's. Walking over to him, she reached up and kissed his cheek. "Morning, lover."

"Hey, babe," Kenny replied, reaching out and gripping her full backside. Glancing at Stan, he smirked. "And don't get it twisted, man; Bebe only calls me when Tucker isn't available."

Kyle almost dropped his cup at this bit of information, and he could feel the blood running from his face; a muted, breathless feeling stealing over him though he couldn't have said why. The mysterious ache in his heart and blood was reaching a fever pitch now, and he had to reach out to grip the counter.

"You've been with Craig, too?" he asked, faintly. Why did he feel like his heart was suddenly breaking apart in his chest?

"Sure, plenty of times," Bebe replied, shrugging one shoulder; the loose collar of the t-shirt falling aside and revealing tanned skin. "He's insatiable."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Kenny said, pulling her close and kissing her neck.

"I-I have to go," Kyle said. "Stan, can you take me home?"

"What?" Stan asked, eyes wide. "But, Kyle, we were going to spend the day together so I could take care of you. Remember?"

"I want to be alone for awhile," Kyle replied. "Please?"

Stan glanced at Kenny who just shrugged, his arms still wrapped around Bebe.

"Well, okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Kyle said, heading for the door.

They were nearly to Kyle's apartment when Stan finally spoke, his voice filled with concern.

"Kyle, I really think you should just move in with me." He paused for a moment while switching lanes. "Your living situation with Craig really doesn't sit well with me."

Feeling instantly provoked, Kyle glanced at him; eyebrows raised.

"What are you talking about?"

Stan sighed, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

"I really didn't want to bring this up, but I don't think he's really...healthy for you."

"Huh?"

"Haven't you noticed that Craig seems really involved in your life? Like, really, really involved?"

Kyle folded his arms, starting to feel annoyed.

"Craig is my best friend and my roommate, so, yeah, he's going to be involved in my life, Stan."

"Kyle, he tries to control you."

"That's insane," Kyle scoffed. "He's never -"

"Jesus Christ, Kyle; the dude is fucking weird, okay? I've been looking the other way for years now, but I can't keep this to myself anymore."

The fire in Kyle's blood seemed to spike at Stan's words, and all at once a smoldering rage was rising; blind fury pulsating in waves of flame. Kyle's nails dug into his palms hard enough to cut and draw blood, and he almost felt like he'd begin to swell from the tide of ire within him; all-consuming as it was. He'd always felt the need to protect Craig, but now it was overwhelming him; becoming a necessity, an absolute that could not be denied.

"How fucking dare you," he said, voice soft and hot brushing over his cracked lips. "How could you even say that?"

Stan pulled into the apartment's parking lot and stopped in front of Kyle's building; letting the car idle as he sat back to regard Kyle. Eyes widening at the rage evident on Kyle's face, he reached out a hand towards him.

"Don't!" Kyle snapped, slapping his hand away. "You can't just fucking touch me whenever you want."

"What's gotten into you, Kyle?" Stan asked, abject concern flooding his eyes. "You're not acting like yourself."

"Well, excuse me if I don't want to hear you talk shit about Craig, Stan," Kyle replied, spitting out his name like it tasted foul. "I've only told you about a million fucking times that you need to get over whatever it is you have against him, but, no, why the fuck should you listen to me?"

"Kyle, please listen to me," Stan said, his voice pleading now. "Maybe you can't see what's going on because you're in the situation, but from an outsider's perspective -"

"Oh, fuck that," Kyle snapped, his hand coming to rest on the door handle. "Don't presume to tell me what's going on in my own goddamn life. Besides, you don't have the first fucking clue about what goes on between Craig and I."

"You're right, Kyle," Stan replied, simply. "I don't know every little thing, but I can tell you that from what I _have_ seen, that guy is fucking obsessed with you. You know that, right?"

"Here we go with the melodrama," Kyle scoffed, rolling his eyes. The fire was blazing into a fury inside of him now, and he winced; his hand squeezing the door handle until he thought the metal would split.

"Kyle, please; just listen to me," Stan said, daring to reach out and take a hold of Kyle's hand. Recoiling, he loosened his grip but held on, his teeth gritted. "Jesus Christ, you feel like a fucking inferno!"

"Don't touch me!" Kyle yelled, the agony spiking when Stan touched his flesh. Vague memories surfaced from the night before, and he could recall the anguish he'd felt when Stan was inside him; like he was committing a deep and unforgivable sin. Frantically, he wrenched his hand out of Stan's grasp and fumbled with the door; ripping it open.

"Kyle, wait! Your eyes -"

"Just leave me alone, okay?" Kyle said, his teeth gritted. "I just need time to think."

Slamming the door, he quickly raced up to his building and let himself in; relishing the icy chill of the wind as it followed him inside. For a moment the fire died down, somewhat satiated, but as he climbed the stairs it returning; filling him until he wanted to scream.

Kyle didn't know what to do with himself as he wandered through the apartment. Craig wasn't there, no doubt at work, and he couldn't remember ever feeling so profoundly alone; his heartbeat filling his ears as he took in the stillness of the air, dust motes floating through shafts of sunlight. The atmosphere around him seemed to be holding its breath and waiting for something to happen.

The fire had abated to a bearable place, but now Kyle was overwhelmed with an empty ache in his chest that tore through him; every nerve being severed and brutalized as he quietly sat in torment. Feeling shaky, he went to Craig's piano and lifted the lid, a sudden feeling of peace stealing over him as he stroked the keys. Mindlessly, he plunked out a little tune that Craig had taught him when they were kids, the simple melody further reinforcing his reprieve.

Standing, he drifted down the hallway and stopped in front of Craig's door, his hand coming to rest on the door knob as he fought with himself. There had always been an unspoken agreement that they weren't to enter the other person's room without permission, but there was something calling to him from inside; a longing so strong that it almost made Kyle tremble. Throwing caution to the wind, he dared to turn the knob and suddenly he was inside, Craig's scent washing over him in gentle waves; pushing back the fire until it merely smoldered.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Kyle looked around the room as he breathed deeply of Craig's aroma; cologne and a woody, earthy musk. He always seemed to carry the smell of burning firewood in his clothes, which always called to mind camping trips from years ago; the white mountains bathed in moonlight as they sat around a campfire. A multitude of memories filtered through Kyle's mind as he stood in Craig's silent room, and suddenly the longing ache in his heart was so strong that it almost made him gasp.

Going to the drawers, Kyle retrieved one of Craig's t-shirts and he stripped down, pulling the garment over his head and sighing as the material brushed his skin; almost like ghostly fingertips, _his_ fingertips. His feet were whisper-soft as he walked across the cool floorboards, and without really stopping to think about what he was doing, Kyle climbed into Craig's bed and wrapped himself in the comforter; that wonderful, haunting smell of burning fires enfolding him like an embrace. Fatigue stole over him as the fire finally died down completely, and he rested his head against Craig's pillow, his eyes slipping closed.

It wasn't until hours later, when the windows were dark and he'd woken to the empty chill that Kyle realized he'd fallen asleep in Craig's bed. Looking toward the doorway, his heart began to pound when he saw that he wasn't alone, and without thinking he was reaching his arms out; Craig slowly coming to him and pulling Kyle toward his chest.

The longing and fire were still present but they were bearable when Craig held him, and Kyle wound his hands in Craig's shirt and squeezed the material tightly.

"What are you doing in my room?" Craig asked, his voice gentle and lacking accusation. "Are you okay?"

Kyle shook his head, his cheek resting against Craig's shoulder.

"I don't know, I just felt like I needed to be here, but you were gone."

Craig pulled away, his grey eyes studying Kyle with a mixture of tenderness and suspicion.

"What do you mean?"

Kyle bit his lip, the ache radiating through his chest as secret voices started to whisper in his mind; dark voices that urged him on as he started to fall. Suddenly, he was leaning forward and kissing Craig's mouth, his lips hot and trembling as the embers were stoked.

"I need you, Craig," he whispered. "I need you so much."


	10. Chapter 10

Trigger warning: Non-consensual sex, beware. (I know that it won't come across that way, but in the context of the story, I'm calling a spade a spade because, duh. So, please steer clear if you don't wish to read this sort of subject matter.) This part honestly came out differently than I thought it would. In fact, the entire tone of this story has shifted dramatically from my initial vision, but I'm totally okay w/ that. In fact, I'm actually rather pleased with it. So, enjoy (hopefully), lol. :)

 **It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now**  
 **Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now**  
 **And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now**

 **-Need You Now, Lady Antebellum**

* * *

 **Nine and a Half Years Prior**

He had been watching Kyle's house for hours; just waiting. It felt like it'd been years since Stan had disappeared through the front door, and Craig was starting to lose feeling in his fingers and toes, his nose already completely numb; faint tremors coursing through his skin. What were they even doing in there?

It had been weeks since Craig's birthday party and Kyle had kept his distance, mainly because Craig had made it a point to actively avoid him. Whenever he saw him approaching at school, Craig would make sure to go the opposite direction, and he'd given his family strict orders not to let Kyle in should he stop by. After awhile, Craig had noticed that even though Kyle still watched him with sad, confused eyes, he had stopped trying to overstep the invisible boundaries that had been set up.

For awhile, Craig had been happy about that fact, telling himself that this was exactly what he wanted; complete and utter freedom to be alone, but as the days crawled by, the inexplicable began to occur. Suddenly, Craig found himself glancing toward the door at weird times, convinced he could hear a faint tap on the other side, but there was never anyone there. At school, he caught himself looking at Kyle more and more, his heart beating faster when his scarlet curls caught the overhead lights; his voice drifting through the classroom when he answered a question...and he answered so many fucking questions it started to drive Craig crazy.

When he lay in bed at night, Craig would look out the window and his mind would go to secret, out of the way places filled with agonizing thoughts and questions. As he watched the stars slowly pass through the sky and dawn would start creeping up, Craig would ask himself why he couldn't sleep, but in his heart he knew; he just fucking knew.

He missed Kyle.

Craig missed all of the little overtures that he thought he hated; Kyle listening to him play the piano for hours on end, his small, thoughtful gestures that used to annoy the fuck out of him, even his apple-laden scent that overtook everything until Craig could barely think. He missed it all. In fact, he became so despondent that even his music was starting to suffer, and he couldn't bring himself to touch the piano, every song a hateful reminder that Kyle wasn't there to listen.

He kept trying to make sense of the situation but he could never really piece the logic together, though Craig started to see that logic had nothing to do with any part of the whole equation. A weary fatigue stole over him as the days died one by one, and he could feel himself starting to crumple, his resolve laying down and screaming for mercy. After awhile, he couldn't even really remember why the fuck he was angry with Kyle at all.

Was it because he made Craig feel something in the first place? He couldn't even figure out how that had come to pass, and when it had happened. All he knew was that he was deluged with a deep, painful guilt that coursed through his blood; a shame that made him wish more than ever that he could speak with Tweek one last time so he could apologize. How could he feel anything for someone else when Tweek's death was still so new, his bones barely dry in a grave less than 10 minutes away? Craig almost felt like moving on in any capacity was a sacrilege to Tweek's memory; almost like he was turning his back on someone he still loved so much.

It wasn't until a Thursday evening in mid-February that Craig decided he couldn't take it anymore. Sitting on his bed, he opened his bedside table and pulled out the tickets Kyle had given him for his birthday. Studying them in the lamplight, he touched the lettering softly and couldn't help but heave a sigh. The film festival started on Saturday and he knew there was no one else he'd want to go with, but he had no clue how he was going to go about asking Kyle. So much time had passed and every minute seemed to be another barrier between them; what could he possibly say at this point?

Feeling restless and inexplicably afraid, Craig rose from his bed and headed downstairs, the rest of the house hushed; his family off in all directions attending to their own affairs. Quietly, he slipped through the front door and ran out into the night, his feet automatically carrying him in the direction of Kyle's house.

 _What the fuck am I even doing?_ He asked himself, his breath breaking through his lips in cloudy streams.

The moon was tossed on wispy silver clouds as he ran the empty streets, delicate snowflakes catching drafts of air and falling all around him. The world almost felt deserted as he passed through the silence, his hand slipping into his pocket to make sure the tickets were still there. Drawing closer to Kyle's house, Craig stood on the opposite side of the street and studied it for a moment; it's neat front lawn manicured, a sign next to the front door proclaiming that you had reached the Broflovski residence.

Slight movement in his peripheral made Craig turn his head sharply, and with a sinking heart and sudden vague rage building in his blood, he could see Stan coming down the street; hands jammed in his pockets and his head down. Running behind a clump of bushes and feeling ridiculous, Craig watched as Stan went right up to Kyle's house and knocked on the front door, his foot kicking at the welcome mat as he waited.

All at once, the door opened and in the midst of the warm lights flowing out into the night, Craig could make out Kyle's voice and form though he was in silhouette. He let Stan in and the door shut, plunging the front yard and street into darkness once again, and without realizing it, Craig's hands clenched into fists at his sides. Well, this was just fucking great.

 _I'll just wait,_ he decided. _It's already kind of late, there's no way Stan is going to stay for more than a few minutes._

But as the minutes dragged by, Craig figured out that he'd miscalculated the situation, and it wasn't until almost two hours later that the front door finally opened; Kyle waving to Stan as he drifted down the walkway, a bag now dangling from his hand. Faintly, he could hear him thanking Kyle for inviting him to dinner, and this was enough to make Craig grit his teeth, suddenly feeling so hot even though the night was so unbearably cold. He watched him walk away down the street, and after a moment, Stan started whistling; acting like he didn't have a fucking care in the world.

Craig tore his eyes away from Stan's retreating back once he'd made it a fair distance down the block, and almost rose from his position to make his way across the street, but something held him back. Now he wasn't sure if he had the courage to go through with what he planned, but he desperately wanted to; his mind drifting to the photos on his camera that he looked at every night. Kyle's sweet face passed through his cold-fogged brain, and without warning Craig could almost smell his apple cider aroma; the scent almost serving to warm him against the chill.

Trapped in agonizing indecision, Craig waited outside of Kyle's house until all the downstairs lights went out, and the upstairs' windows were illuminated; warm, yellow squares breaking through the blackness. Angry with himself for waiting so long like a chickenshit, Craig finally managed to move his stiff, numbed body from his hiding place, and he crossed the street; his feet carrying him to the side of the house. He had a pretty good idea of which window he needed to look for, having been to Kyle's home in the past, but he still felt his heart rate increasing steadily. How was he ever going to explain himself to Kyle after all of this time had passed?

Looking around, Craig found a tiny pebble and took a deep breath to steady himself. After a moment, he lobbed it up toward the window where it clinked softly against the glass; the sound of it falling and skittering away in the grass sounding immensely loud in the stillness. Craig waited with baited breath but after a few minutes, he picked up another pebble and threw it at the window, but just a little harder this time. A few seconds later, he could hear a scratching at the window and a shadow passed in front, and then there was Kyle; his eyes wide as he stared out the now open window.

"What the fuck?" He said, peering out into the yard, his curls appearing damp in the light pouring from his room.

"Kyle!" Craig whisper-shouted up to him, his hand curled around his mouth. "Down here!"

Kyle blinked rapidly as he searched for the source of the voice, and when his eyes finally fell on Craig, a look of complete confusion washed over his features.

"Craig? What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, wanted to talk to you," Craig replied, a sudden flush heating his cheeks. "Do you have a minute?"

Kyle just stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide and unblinking. Glancing over his shoulder, he called down softly:

"I'll be right down, okay? Don't go anywhere."

It was with a frantically beating heart and burning cheeks that Craig received Kyle a few minutes later; both of them huddling under a streetlamp down the street. Kyle was dressed in his pajamas and hadn't even bothered to put on a jacket, and he stood there trembling as he waited for Craig to speak; his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Finally, when Craig couldn't seem to find the words, Kyle broke the silence.

"I can't believe you were throwing rocks at my window, dude." He grinned a little, his voice shaky with cold. "What is this, Romeo and Juliet?"

Craig thought a moment, then groaned and rolled his eyes.

"That's a fucking Taylor Swift song, Kyle. Romeo never threw pebbles at Juliet's window."

Kyle arched an eyebrow, wry amusement filling his face.

"I don't listen to Taylor Swift, Craig, but apparently you do."

Now Craig's face was flaming red, and he glanced down at his feet, the light from the streetlamp making his shadow almost disappear beneath his shoes.

"So, are you going to tell me what's going on?" Kyle asked, his voice gentle. "What are you doing here? I thought you were mad at me."

Craig jammed his hands in his back pockets, his hand curling around the tickets as he tried to sort out his thoughts.

"I was," he started, gruffly. "I mean, I am, but I -"

He broke off, finding himself unable to continue. He'd never been one to accept a serving of humble pie without putting up a fight first.

"But?" Kyle asked, shivering as a gust of wind tore through them.

Without thinking, Craig was suddenly removing his jacket and draping it around Kyle's shoulders; a feeling of crazy, protective tenderness flitting through him.

"What were you thinking coming out here without a jacket?" He chastised, irritation making his voice even more rough. "Are you crazy?"

"No crazier than you," Kyle replied, arching an eyebrow. "You're the one that showed up at my house after fucking ten o'clock at night."

"Is it that late already?" Craig asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, it is," Kyle said, pulling the jacket closer around himself. "And you still haven't told me what's going on."

Feeling reckless and foolish, Craig pulled the tickets out of his back pocket and held them in front of himself, his hands trembling a little, though he couldn't say whether it was from the cold or from being next to Kyle again.

"The film festival is this weekend," he said, softly.

Kyle stared at the tickets and then at Craig's face, a look of recognition registering in his eyes.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and I kind of wanted to, uh...," Craig started, but then he just couldn't make himself continue. He just felt so stupid and embarrassed and -

"I wish I could go with you," Kyle interjected, his tone a little wistful. "I'd really like to see Sunset Boulevard since you seem to like it so much."

"Is that so?" Craig asked, relief flushing through him because Kyle had been willing to save him from making an ass of himself further. "Well, I mean, I haven't really asked anyone yet, so, I don't know." He shrugged a little, trying to appear completely disinterested. "I guess you could go with me if you wanted to."

"Really?" Kyle asked. "Are you sure? I didn't buy two tickets because I expected you to ask me or anything."

"Yeah, I know, but I -"

He stopped, but then somehow found some courage frozen somewhere deep inside his heart.

"I want you to go with me," he admitted. Turning away, Craig kicked at the ground and tried to play it cool. "It's not like I have anything better to do anyway."

"Clearly," Kyle said, amused. Reaching out, his fingers brushed Craig's as he took one of the tickets out of his hand; igniting his skin and almost making him groan a little. Looking at it, he smiled when he glanced back up. "Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever," Craig replied, trying to assume an air of indifference but failing miserably.

"Are you still mad at me?" Kyle asked, softly. "I'm really sorry for adding my drama to your problems."

Craig sighed, his skin still burning from where Kyle had touched him. Abruptly, he reached up and tugged the jacket more snuggly around the redhead.

"No, I'm not mad, Kyle. Are you pissed at me?"

"Why would I be angry with you?" Kyle asked, clearly confused.

Craig shrugged a little, his hands still lingering on the jacket.

"I was kind of a dick about the whole thing, and I didn't want you to think that you don't have my support or whatever."

Kyle smiled softly, the streetlamp catching the little flecks of gold in his irises; bright against the clover green.

"I'm not mad at all, Craig; I'm just glad we're talking again."

"Yeah, right," Craig said, clearing his throat as a flush traveled up his neck. "So, have you told Stan yet?"

Kyle froze for a moment and then threw his hands up, suddenly a bundle of nerves.

"Stan?! N-no way! I haven't told anyone!" Looking down at the ground, he sounded sad when he spoke next. "I have no idea how I'm going to tell him. I don't want him to hate me."

"How could anyone ever hate you? Especially him?" Craig asked. He knew that Stan loved Kyle back. He had no idea how he knew, he just did; Stan's eyes gave everything away, just like Kyle's. They each had the fatal flaw of having eyes that showed the world everything; every little secret and desire.

"I thought you hated me," Kyle said, grinning now. "Is that not the case?"

Craig broke away now, barely feeling the cold winds as they pelted his jacket-less body. If anything, he now felt deluged with a heat that threatened to melt him away. He couldn't explain how Kyle's words made him feel, but he couldn't help acknowledging that they disarmed him.

"No, I don't hate you," he said, his voice almost a whisper. Admitting this fact caused something to happen in his chest, almost like he could feel something changing as it grew.

"Well, I'm glad," Kyle said, teeth chattering. "Because I really missed you."

Craig just grunted. There was no way he was going to admit to having missed Kyle on top of everything else; he'd already made a big enough fool of himself for one evening. Turning back, he glanced at Kyle's house and then back to him.

"I think it's time for you to get your ass back inside," he said, starting to feel more like himself now that he was getting a little control back. "It's too fucking cold outside for scrawny asses like yours."

"Speak for yourself," Kyle grinned, sliding the jacket off and handing it over. "Here."

Craig took it and slipped it back on, hoping he was hiding the fact that the jacket carried some of Kyle's aroma now; apples and sunshine and everything good that had happened over the past few months.

"Go," he directed, waving towards Kyle's house. "I'll see you tomorrow at school."

"Okay," Kyle said, turning on his heel and beginning to walk away. "I'll sit with you at lunch, okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Craig snapped. "Now move your ass before you freeze."

Kyle just stuck his tongue out and ran away toward his house, his steps crunching through icy snow and slush; slender back retreating into the darkness beyond the streetlight's reach. At the last moment, he waved and then he was gone, the front door snapping shut behind him.

Craig just stood there for a moment and watched Kyle's house, his eyes drifting to the amber square of his window; still burning brightly, and for a moment he thought he saw a shadow pass by, but then it was gone. Looking up, he saw a break in the cloud cover and he could see silver stars pulsing sharply; sentinels wheeling far away as Earth's foolish occupants passed through and lived their little lives. He couldn't explain the feeling welling up inside of his chest, but he knew that it made him feel warm; almost like he was going home after a very long time away.

Later that night, as the rest of the world slept, Craig scrolled through his camera again while nursing the warmth in his chest; vague longing lancing through his veins. How could he ever hope to explain this feeling or make sense of it? It was so different than his feelings for Tweek, and he still couldn't believe that he'd actually camped out in front of Kyle's house for hours, just looking for an opportunity to see him. Everything was happening so fast and he had no idea what he was doing these days.

How had things changed so quickly, and why hadn't he noticed before it was too late?

 **Present Day**

He was in heaven, he had to be; there was simply no other explanation.

Craig sank into Kyle's ravenous kisses like a man possessed, his arms winding around his body and drawing him so close they practically melded together; heat and an intense, burning need consuming every molecule within him. When he'd come home from work the night had already fallen, and he automatically assumed that Kyle wouldn't be there, that he'd be with Stan; but, no, he'd opened up his door and saw something that almost had the power to make him fall to his knees.

Kyle, his Kyle, was in _his_ bed, wrapped in _his_ blankets; waiting for _him_. Just him. Craig had never expected this day to actually come, and for a moment he had just stood in the doorway and stared, his heart throbbing in his chest and threatening to explode. When Kyle had finally stirred, he'd sat up and blinked his eyes one, two, three times, and then he'd automatically opened his arms to him; beckoning him forward with his irresistible siren call.

And then, then, he'd kissed Craig on the lips, his warm breath brushing against his mouth and making him feel positively arrested; tiny hands gathering up his shirt and crushing it between his fingers. Craig had hardly believed his luck, couldn't think the situation could become any more sublime until he'd heard the words -

 _"I need you, Craig. I need you so much."_

Oh, and then he was falling completely; diving headlong through every dream and secret desire, unraveling as every aching part of his body got lost in Kyle. Every thought and worry seemed to fly from his mind as he held Kyle close, his lips hungry and aggressive and so much fire building; flames igniting and searing through his flesh. Craig was even able to push thoughts of Damien away, his murder scene eyes fading into nothingness with every kiss and touch. Christ, he was even able to forget about Stan; about his horrible, impossible choice to shed his blood in order to claim what had always rightfully been his.

He forgot all of that as he pushed Kyle back among the pillows and covered his body with his own, his hands stealing into his wild curls and threading through; his unbearable heat and spice washing over Craig in dizzying waves. Vaguely, he realized that he recognized the shirt Kyle was wearing and laughed a little as he nipped at his bottom lip.

"Are you wearing my shirt?" He asked, his hand creeping down Kyle's side to grip one slim hip; another surprise making him take pause. Looking down, his eyes widened. "Dude, are you not wearing any bottoms?"

Kyle shrugged coquettishly, his eyes overrun with murky viridian and scarlet shades, though the red tones were quickly winning the fight; red dye seeping through.

"I wasn't really thinking straight this afternoon," he said, voice soft and husky. "Is that a problem?"

"Well, no, I mean -" Craig stammered, completely taken aback at this change in Kyle. He was like pulsing, raw energy in Craig's arms; his little spitfire dragging him headlong into the fires of Hell, though Craig didn't mind at all. If anything, he welcomed everything Kyle had to give.

"Shh," Kyle said, kissing him languidly. "Why are you acting shy all of a sudden?"

"I'm not," Craig murmured, suckling his lips and relishing their taste; sweet and plump and all his. "I'm just trying to get used to all of this."

"I'm sorry," Kyle whispered, turning his head away. "I can't believe I'm acting this way. I have no fucking clue what's wrong with me right now."

"Nothing's wrong with you!" Craig exclaimed, turning Kyle's face back toward him and nuzzling at his fragrant neck. "This is all I've ever wanted."

There was a sharp intake of breath as Kyle sat up, staring at Craig with wide eyes; green and red still fighting for precedence.

"Are you serious?" He asked, confusion changing his features until he appeared a meek, scared child. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Craig shook his head and rubbed a hand through his hair, his arousal screaming at him to hurry, hurry; before it was too late and Kyle was taken away again.

"Do you really think it's that simple, Kyle? How was I going to tell you that I've loved you for years; since we were kids? Huh?"

"Oh, my god," Kyle replied, his voice hushed. "You're kidding right now, right? That can't be true."

Craig shrugged, helpless and naked while his entire body continued to cry out for the boy seated before him.

"I'm afraid it is."

"Oh, Craig," Kyle murmured, and he was kissing him again; but this time it was even more intense.

When he drew back, Craig could see that his eyes were almost completely scarlet now; the only green pigment remaining a thin, almost nonexistent slice around his pupils. Heat poured off of him in violent waves that made Craig shudder, and he almost got the impression that Kyle was becoming a solid lick of flame in his arms.

"I don't know what's happening to me," Kyle said, his hands caressing Craig's face. "Something just keeps telling me to run to you, and I don't want to fight it anymore."

"Then don't," Craig replied, his guilt and shame at essentially tricking Kyle in the worst of ways disappearing in the wake of what was being proposed. All at once, he knew that he needed to seal Kyle to his side once and for all, and it needed to happen that night; right there in his bed.

Slowly, almost like a stalking predator, Craig pushed Kyle back against the pillows again, his hands snaking under his t-shirt and rubbing along the skin he'd cherished for over a decade; his fingers claiming every inch as a prize he had earned. Kyle arched into him and moaned, allowing Craig to explore him without hesitation, his whole body seemingly taut and ready.

"What about Stan?" He almost whimpered, his hands coming to settle in Craig's hair and pulling him close.

Craig almost stopped when he asked that question, could practically hear Kyle's true voice calling out and pleading to be heard, for Craig to be the voice of reason and stop things before they went too far; but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Instead, he kissed Kyle's mouth more deeply, his tongue slipping in between his lips and silencing any of his protests. Reaching out a hand, Craig ripped open the drawer of his bedside table and retrieved a small, slim bottle; his thumb snapping it open and pouring some of the substance onto his fingertips.

Kyle sighed as Craig prepared him, and it was the sweetest, most delicious sound he ever heard; a small sound like music, almost like a Chopin nocturne, tender and fragile but capable of violence, too. Slipping his fingers slowly into Kyle's trembling body, Craig made sure to go slow and open him little by little, never wanting to hurt him in a million years, even as he craved him voraciously. Kyle cries escaped his mouth as Craig kissed his throat, the smoldering heat wrapped around his fingertips and making him groan.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting and teasing, Craig unbuttoned his jeans and slid them off, his boxers following soon after. As he watched Kyle breathing heavily, his narrow chest rising and falling as he regarded Craig with hellish bedroom eyes, Craig wrapped his slicked palm around himself and slid the moisture over his own flesh, practically salivating now. Kneeling on the bed, he slid his arms under Kyle's legs and lifted his hips from the bed, almost sobbing when he felt himself pressed against Kyle's heat; the sensation pulling him in and devouring him.

"Are you ready?" He asked, almost afraid to continue because he'd wanted this for so long; so fucking long.

Kyle looked up at him and now his eyes were totally lost in crimson, a hazy paradise building in his irises where wildfires bloomed and forests were consumed; cities crumbling to ash as stars ignited and died, collapsing into black holes. Nodding, he moaned as Craig started pushing inside, and he gripped the blankets in shaking fists; his head tilting back as he was filled.

Craig could hardly comprehend what was happening, and thought that he would surely wake up any moment; this entire turn of events the result of some delirious fever dream, but no, it continued. With every passing moment, he sunk deeper into his Kyle until he was completely within him, and he had to close his eyes against the euphoria that saturated him. With every thrust that followed, slowly at first and then carefully speeding up, his mind traveled over the years; through the days he'd had to pass through before coming to this point.

 _It was all worth it,_ he thought, kissing Kyle's neck and nipping at the tender flesh there; his tongue passing over a quickly accelerating pulse. _Every dream, every sacrifice; everything, because now he's mine forever._

Any qualms he might have had about his deal with Damien evaporated as he drowned in Kyle, and he knew in that moment that he would've made a thousand deals with a thousand different demons to have even a taste of the boy writhing in his arms and calling his name; he knew that as a clear and irrefutable fact.

It was almost like Kyle had the power to hover over himself as Craig entered his body and claimed it for his own, his heavy breaths striking Kyle's neck and almost making him dissolve away. The fire was back now, but it had turned into a pain that left him breathless with pleasure; the excruciating ache and feeling of loss in his heart disappearing as he called out Craig's name into the darkness.

Craig loved him...he loved him, and he'd felt that way for years. How had he never known? How could they have gone for so long and Kyle never realized the truth; the writing on the wall? What roads led them to this place, to this bed where Craig had him pinned down against cool, white sheets, their bodies merged; binary stars circling one another and becoming trapped in the other's heat?

Once again, Kyle could hear dark voices in his mind whispering and leading him, his own thoughts getting lost in a tide of desire and red fog; the musical chants telling him to surrender, that there was no reason to be afraid. Through the swirling mist engulfing him, through the tempest pulling him across a tumultuous sea, Kyle could still catch glimpses of Stan waiting on a distant shore; calling to him to come back, but the dark murmurs were so much louder.

 _Surrender,_ they kept repeating, until Kyle couldn't fight anymore; and he was losing himself in Craig's arms; his body unfolding like a rose while his mind and heart crumbled to ash as the fires raged.


	11. Chapter 11

Trigger warning: Non-consensual sex. Steer clear if this is not subject matter you wish to read about. There's a lot more sex in this chapter, by the by. Hope that isn't a problem for anyone, lol. Craig is shaping up to be a right bastard, you guys. He's my tragic, crazy weirdo, haha. Sorry if this chapter sucks and/or blows; I'm tired and blah today. I'm having fun writing Kyle's slow period of unraveling, though; I'm hooked on the idea of innocence being corrupted. I also had fun writing the carnie scene, having been inspired by Stephen King's 'Joyland' - it's such a great book, you guys. READ ITTT. What can I say? I'm a sick puppy...maybe not to Craig's level, but still, xD ENJOYYYYY.

T **ime is never time at all**  
 **You can never ever leave**  
 **Without leaving a piece of youth**  
 **And our lives are forever changed**  
 **We will never be the same**  
 **The more you change the less you feel.**

 **-Tonight, Tonight, Smashing Pumpkins**

* * *

 **9.25 Years Prior**

"You're coming next weekend, right?"

Craig glanced away from the TV and the muted black and white images on its screen, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, why?"

Kyle shrugged and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting on the floor between them.

"I was just making sure, dude. You're not the easiest person to predict, you know."

Craig cocked a brow but turned back to the movie; Ingrid Bergman splashed across the screen in all her vintage glory.

"I don't know why you feel that way. My routine is pretty much set in stone."

"Right, like when you came to my house and threw rocks at my window that one time? You know, after not talking to me for weeks?" Kyle laughed and popped a white kernel into his mouth. "Yeah, that was totally predictable."

"Oh, my God, can you fucking let that go already?" Craig snapped, crossing his arms in irritation. "That was three goddamn months ago."

"Yeah, but it's still fun to tease you about it," Kyle replied, smiling widely; white teeth flashing. "You hopeless romantic, you."

"You are such an ass, you know that?" Craig said, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "There was nothing romantic about it; I just wanted to -"

"Talk to me," Kyle supplied, grinning. "Because you missed me, right?"

"I'm done with this fucking conversation," Craig retorted, pulling all of his focus back to the movie playing. "Keep it up and I really won't come next weekend, you ass."

"Oh, so you'd disappoint me on my own birthday?" Kyle asked, poking him in the ribs and making him angrily scoot away.

"In a fucking heartbeat," Craig replied, turning his nose up.

"And here I thought we were becoming best friends or something," Kyle pouted.

Craig rolled his eyes and fought away the genuine irritation that flared inside of him at these words. He knew better than that.

"Stan's your best friend," he said, still looking at the TV; the flush pouring into his cheeks and making his skin flame. "Everyone knows that."

"I can have more than one," Kyle said, softly; a faint hint of sadness in his voice that grabbed Craig's attention even though he'd never openly admit it. "Besides," he continued, but then lapsed into silence.

"What?" Craig finally asked, deigning to look over his shoulder. Kyle had his knees tucked to his chest and he was resting his chin on them, eyes downcast as the movie continued to play; grey light falling over the carpet as Charles Boyer wove a dastardly scheme.

"It's nothing," Kyle replied. "Just forget it."

Craig sighed and moved closer, his heart beginning to pound when Kyle's apple scent filtered under his nose; the reaction filling him with confusion and a slow sadness. The past few months had been so nice ever since they'd made up, and now it was almost customary for Kyle to spend the night at Craig's house every Friday night so they could watch old movies and talk shit. In fact, Kyle had become such a fixture in Craig's life that he was having a hard time imagining life before they'd really become friends. He made missing Tweek bearable, but on the flip-side, Craig just felt so lost when it came to untangling other emotions; the secret ones that filled his head after night fell and he tried to fall asleep.

Time had flown so fast that it was already late May, and Kyle's birthday was coming up the following weekend. He'd decided to invite some of the guys to a carnival in the neighboring town, and while Craig was happy at the prospect of spending time with Kyle, he wasn't looking forward to sharing him with anyone; especially Stan. Why he felt that way he couldn't articulate, or maybe he just didn't want to think of the deeper reasons; they were just there.

As it stood, Craig was still the only person who knew Kyle's secret, and that made him happier than he'd ever care to admit. Having a secret with him elevated Craig above Stan's station, and sometimes it felt like he and Kyle were lost in a world all their own, and no one could ever break the barrier and ruin its perfection. However, at times like this, when Kyle looked so sad, so achingly breakable, Craig couldn't help but feel guilty; he knew that Kyle would feel better if he'd just talk to Stan.

"I think you should just tell him you're gay," he said, gruffly; staring down at the carpet and brushing a finger through its fibers roughly. "You'll feel better getting it off your chest, and I know Stan will be cool. He'd never turn his back on you."

"You really think so?" Kyle asked, and the painful need for reassurance was so strong in his voice that it almost made Craig's heart bleed. That thread of vulnerability was enough to tell him that Kyle had been suffering in silence, and he hated himself for not encouraging him sooner.

"Yeah," Craig replied. "Just tell him. I promise everything will be okay."

"Well, if you say so...," Kyle replied, and suddenly he was reaching out a hand and touching Craig's knee; his fingers warm through his jeans and ramping up Craig's heartbeat until he thought he would keel over.

Roughly, Craig pulled away and stood up, his hands raking through his hair as he tried to collect himself, wild thoughts turning in his brain like frantic birds; pushing against his skull until it throbbed. Why, why, why did everything have to be so fucking complicated when it came to Kyle? Why?!

More than anything, Craig wanted to withdraw so he could protect himself from all of these stupid fucking emotions, but he didn't want to run the risk of losing the closeness he and Kyle had developed over the past few months. He felt like he was caught in a catch-22, and no matter what he did he ended up feeling like shit, but then he'd hear Kyle's voice or see his smile, and then he'd be okay again, at least for a moment. This vulnerability infuriated him though, so really, he just couldn't win no matter what. His old way of doing things just didn't work anymore, and he found it hard to cope.

"What's wrong?" Kyle asked.

"Nothing," Craig muttered, trying to settle himself a little; which seemed to be an insurmountable task when Kyle was looking at him with wide green eyes and slightly parted lips. Craig's gaze trailed down Kyle's body, over his slim neck and down to -

Fucking stop it, he chastised himself. With herculean effort, Craig collected himself and sat down on the bed, his eyes glued on the TV.

"Let's just watch the movie, okay?" He asked, voice sharp. "You're the one who wanted to watch Gaslight in the first place."

"Right," Kyle said, finally turning his attention away so Craig could attempt to breathe, even as his heart kept hammering away in his chest.

Why the fuck can't anything be simple anymore? Craig thought, digging his nails into his leg and resisting the urge to watch Kyle instead of the movie. After all, he'd already seen Gaslight, and the redhead was proving to be far more interesting; a fact which drove him nearly to distraction.

The day of Kyle's birthday, a humid, bright Saturday, finally arrived and Craig was the first person to show up to his house; even managing to beat Stan by a few minutes. They'd all agreed to meet up a little early prior to leaving, so Kyle would have a chance to open presents and have birthday cake.

"Happy birthday," Craig said, his voice flat as he handed Kyle his present; feeling annoyed that Stan was watching the exchange. Really, he just felt irritated that Stan was there at all, though he tried to play nice for Kyle's sake.

"Hey, thanks," Kyle said, accepting the brightly wrapped package; a red envelope resting on top. "You seriously didn't have to get me anything though."

"Yeah, I know," Craig replied, jamming his hands in his pockets and trying to to ignore how cute Kyle looked in his green jacket; the shamrock green setting off his red hair. He'd never been one to give a shit about what other people wore, but more and more he was starting to notice little things about Kyle; the way he kept his fingernails clipped really short, his habit of tugging at his shirt collar almost without noticing, the little scar on the back of his left hand from being clawed by a cat as a child; everything.

"Whatever, if you don't want it I can just take it back," he said, starting to feel agitated. He reached out a hand to take his present back but Kyle pulled it away and rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest," he said. "I'm sure I'll love it, so relax."

"Here," Stan interjected, and he handed a present to Kyle, too; except his was over twice the size as Craig's, a fact that infuriated him for whatever reason. "Happy birthday, asshole," he smirked, blue eyes lighting up.

"Sweeter words were never spoken," Kyle said, blushing a little but smiling with pleasure. Craig noticed that Kyle's hand almost overlapped Stan's during the exchange and he had to glance away, annoyance flaring in his stomach.

 _God, this fucking day has barely started and I already fucking hate everyone,_ he thought. He went and sat on the couch while Kyle carried his presents into the dining room so he could deposit them on the table. Stan sat beside him on the couch, his posture casual and unperturbed; the very picture of calm. Craig rolled his eyes and refused to look at him, opting instead to watch Kyle walk back into the room, slim limbs making him appear coltish; red hair flaming in the early Saturday sunshine.

"Who else is coming?" Stan asked. "Please tell me you didn't invite Cartman."

"I didn't, but watch him just show up anyway," Kyle replied, already looking annoyed at the prospect. "Kenny, Clyde, Token, and Jimmy are coming too, though; so I think that'll create enough of a buffer."

"Why don't you just tell him he can't fucking come?" Craig asked. "He ruins everything."

Kyle and Stan exchanged a knowing glance which only served to make Craig more irritable; secret communication among best friends he couldn't possibly be a part of.

"We've learned to just pick our battles when it comes to Cartman," Stan said, slowly. "It's just easier that way."

Craig kept his face impassive even though the way Stan had referred to Kyle and him as 'we' was unspeakably nauseating. Shrugging, he kept his response casual.

"I'm just saying, is all," he said and turned away, keeping Kyle in his peripheral. "Just fucking step up this time if Cartman says something, okay? That's the least you can do for Kyle on his birthday, you know."

"Hey, what the -" Stan started, but a knock at the door cut through the room.

"I'll get it," Kyle said, giving Craig a questioning look; one eyebrow raised.

Craig glanced at Stan, who was looking at him with narrowed eyes, his face awash with confused irritation. Keeping his face blank, Craig shrugged again.

"If you guys are best friends, act like it."

Hours later, the group was completely immersed in the carnival scene, the sounds of calliope music, roller coasters, screaming patrons, and just the general din of the crowd surrounding them; the smells of fried food, burnt sugar, sunblock, and the hot sun striking off of grass and so many bodies at once assaulting their senses. They had tried to stay in a group, but the boys were quickly learning that trying to stay together was bordering on impossible; there were just too many things to do and directions to take, and everyone wanted to do something different.

The bright blue sky arched overhead as everyone figured out a plan, but all Craig could do was focus on the red flush gathering in Kyle's cheeks from the sun pouring down; on the close proximity he maintained with Stan, their shoulders brushing together in that infuriating way. Craig could still taste the buttercream frosting on his tongue from Kyle's cake, could see a smudge of it on his green jacket, his mind still wandering away to the car ride over; Stan and Kyle sitting in the backseat while Craig had sat next to Clyde and stared out the window. He'd tried to listen to music and drift but it was so fucking hard; this whole day was proving to be a quickly unfolding trial.

"Come on, Stan," Kyle was saying, the red flush becoming pink as carnations now, the sun striking his copper highlights and making him shine like a new dime. "Let's go ride the Ferris wheel, okay? I want to talk to you about something anyway."

"Oh? Okay," Stan replied, allowing Kyle to tug on his shirt and pull him in the direction of the gigantic ride; it's plastic shell glistening like hard, red candy in the afternoon sunlight.

"Ooh, the Jew is gonna get some on his birthday, you guys," Cartman broke in, his mouth loaded with candy apple and a huge stuffed octopus lodged under one fat arm. "Have fun, fags."

Craig looked at Stan pointedly but saw that he had that fucking 'deer in the headlights of a car' look on his flushed face, and he could feel his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Stepping over, Craig took a hold of Cartman's shirt and yanked him close; their faces mere inches apart as he seethed, his heartbeat accelerating to dangerous levels.

"Why don't you ever fucking learn, you fucking degenerate?" Craig asked, shaking him as he sputtered on chunks of apple still in his mouth. Reaching down, he grabbed the candy apple and brandished it in Cartman's face. "Do you want a repeat of the cake incident, you smarmy asshole? Because if you do, I'll make you eat this whole goddamn thing at once; stick and all."

"What the fuck, Craig?" Cartman asked, finally swallowing the food in his mouth and sputtering angrily, his hands reaching up to claw at Craig's hold on his shirt. "What, are you pissed because you're alone and you have to watch Kyle and Stan hooking up? Jesus Christ, I -"

Craig deftly cut him off by doing exactly what he promised: he shoved the red-coated apple into Cartman's mouth just like he'd done with the cake at his own birthday party. The sludgy, syrupy mess of sugar drenched itself across the fat boy's face as he struggled to breathe while apple was violently pushed into his face. Craig was using even more force than he had before, probably because that fat asshole had managed to hit a nerve; a fact that served to infuriate him more as he continued to jam the confection between Cartman's lips.

"That's right, swallow it all down, you fuck," he said, that weird calmness stealing over him again. "Your mouth can't get you into trouble if you can't fucking use it, right?"

"Craig, stop!" Kyle said, coming over and putting a hand on his arm. "I think he's learned his lesson, okay? Just let him go."

"He never learns his fucking lesson," Craig replied, smoothly. His eyes stopped on Kyle's delicate fingers brushing over his skin, and for a moment he wasn't able to concentrate on brutalizing Cartman. That is, until he started to struggle again, and Craig had to continue imparting a much-needed lesson; half-eaten apple and red sugar soaking his face like his skin had been cut open and he was leaking fresh blood.

"Please," Kyle pleaded, voice soft now; and it was this softness that disarmed Craig and made him step back, panting a little now from his exertion.

Everyone in the group watched as Cartman wheezed and tried to catch his breath, his hand scraping the mess from his face as tears coursed from his eyes. Looking at Craig with hate, he narrowed his eyes and there was a flash in them; almost like a light bulb was being illuminated, and he glanced from him to Kyle, who was still clutching at Craig's arm.

"Oh, now I get it," he started, and Craig could see hateful knowledge in those piggy, evil eyes. "This makes so much sense -"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman," Stan snapped, seemingly finally finding his voice and coming over. "Why do you have to ruin everyone's birthdays? It's not fair, so go clean yourself up and just keep your fucking mouth shut for the rest of the day." Wordlessly, he reached out and took Kyle's hand and started pulling him toward the Ferris wheel, causing him to relinquish his hold on Craig's arm. "Let's go, Kyle."

"Uh, yeah," Kyle said, glancing back at Craig for a moment before he was pulled through the crowd; his red curls still setting him apart from the fray. Craig's eyes followed them until they were completely swallowed by a tide of people.

"Hey, man," Clyde said. "Let's go through the haunted house or something, okay?"

"Yeah, let's go. I've heard it's actually pretty bad ass," Token added, walking over and standing beside Clyde and Jimmy, who were watching Craig with eyes shadowed with vague fear; almost like they thought he was going to explode and try to attack them too. Everyone continued to ignore Cartman, who was still making a big show of crying and wiping off his face.

"Nah," Craig replied, a sense of longing tearing through his chest. "I think I need to be alone for awhile. I'll catch you guys later; let's meet at the carousel in a few hours."

"Are you sure?" Clyde asked. "I mean -"

"I'm sure," Craig cut him off, curtly. "Let's meet at 6."

"But what if Kyle asks where you are?" Token asked. "He promised his mom we would all try to stay together for the most part."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Craig replied, bitterness creeping into his tone. "I'm pretty sure he won't notice."

There were few things that Craig felt passionately about when he really stopped to think about it; not that he really gave the matter much thought. For the most part, he liked to pass through his days expending as little emotional energy as possible, but now things were becoming complicated again. His mind drifted to the beginning of his relationship with Tweek, and it was eerie to note the similarities in that situation versus this one, even though he was still trying to figure shit out. He was beginning to seriously regret letting the little redheaded troublemaker into his life, but what was done was done, he supposed.

Now he was considering the goldfish in tiny glass globes at one of the carnival games, and he knew that he hated everything associated with the idea; that animals were being used as prizes for any slack-jawed yokel capable of throwing a ping pong ball with just a little bit of accuracy. Craig found the whole business reprehensible as he watched the golden fish moving in their confines, buggy eyes looking out at the world and the people streaming by; little kids screeching at their harried parents to let them play because they wanted a pet. Craig was pretty sure that none of these fuckers gave two shits about the fish after they were won, and he couldn't help but feel bad for the tiny creatures; their scales reminiscent of Kyle's hair, shiny and a deep, pretty vermilion.

It was from this standpoint that he felt the need to play the game, having always identified with animals and their vulnerability; their need to be protected. If his actions, small as they were, could liberate at least one little goldfish, at least he had managed to do something. Really, his motivations were clearly predicated on animal rights, and certainly had nothing to do with scarlet scales or a certain person who had always wanted a pet, but their fucking shrew of a mother would never let them have one. Craig stepped up to the fish booth and slapped a five dollar bill down; the carnie giving him a look while he handed him his allotment of balls and asked if he needed the rules explained.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Craig said, eyeing one of the center globes where the prettiest, plumpest goldfish swam; slick scales glistening and absolutely perfect.

"If you say so, kid," the carnie replied, pushing a dingy ball cap off of his sweaty forehead which proudly announced his veteran status.

Craig glanced around and watched the other players toss their balls, the white orbs arcing through the air and bouncing every which way; the water in the globes sloshing on occasion when someone came particularly close. He'd had an uncle that worked for a carnival for twenty years, and he'd told him that most, if not all, of the games were gaffed; or rigged, basically. You could still win, you just had to know the tricks of the trade and use them to your advantage, just like everything else in life; if you could find the inside edge and manipulate it, you could come out on top. Watching closely, Craig observed a patron walk up with his little girl and ask the carnie if the game was even winnable; a question that made the grizzled carnie chortle.

"Of course you can win!" He exclaimed. "Here, I can even show you how easy it is!"

Plucking up a ball from behind the counter, the carnie came around the side of the booth and planted his feet in the grass; in a patch that Craig noticed seemed a little more worn down than the rest of the grass surrounding the structure. With a careful flick of his wrist, the carnie lobbed the ball and it landed neatly on one of the center globes; the water splashing lightly and the fish inside turning round and round like a golden tornado. Going over, the carnie picked up the ball and Craig noticed he kept it clasped in his hand; held tightly in overly tanned fingers.

"Daddy! Daddy, I want to try!" The little girl shrieked, clapping her hands and then pulling at her father's shirt; brown pigtails bouncing on her shoulders. "Please, please, please!"

"Fine," the middle aged man sighed, pulling out his wallet. He handed some money to the carnie and passed a ball to his daughter, who quickly tried to replicate the carnie's stance and exact way of throwing the ball; delicately and creating a graceful parabola. Naturally, she failed abysmally, and she held out her hand for another ball.

Craig watched as she failed every single time, until she was sobbing and her father had to drag her away from the booth; promising that they would go to the pet store and buy a much better goldfish if she'd just give it a rest. The carnie watched with wry amusement, the winning ball still white against his fingers. Craig eyed it and made a quick decision.

"Hey, can you show me how you did that again?" He asked, strolling over and trying to look nonchalant.

The carnie glanced at him, eyebrows raised; wrinkling his crunchy-looking skin.

"Oh, now you need help?"

"Yep," Craig replied, shrugging. "Do you mind?"

"Not for a paying customer, I don't," the carnie grinned, coming back around the booth. He planted his feet in the exact same spot and threw the ball in almost the exact same way; the ball coming to rest on yet another globe.

"I think I see how it works now," Craig said, nodding. He walked to where the carnie had been standing and placed his feet in the same patch of grass. "Can I use that ball?" He asked, pointing toward the ball the carnie had used to win both times.

"Why?" The carnie asked, a look of suspicion flitting through his face. "A ball's a ball, isn't it?"

"Sure, but I want to use that one," Craig replied, his face and voice flat. "Unless there's a problem with that?"

Other patrons were gathering now to watch the exchange, and the carnie glanced around uneasily as Craig waited; his hand out with the palm facing up.

"Fine," he hissed, finally conceding and slapping the ball in Craig's waiting hand.

Craig smirked and assumed the same stance as the carnie, feet planted firmly in mashed down grass. With a fluid motion, he tossed the ball and before it landed he already knew he'd won, though the ball didn't settle on the globe he would've preferred; the plumpest, prettiest fish escaping his grasp, it would seem. Another idea occurred to him though as the carnie stared daggers at him and the crowd applauded; impressed by Craig's skills.

"Can I have that fish instead?" He asked, pointing to the one in the center; vermilion fins and tail transparent among clear, unsullied glass.

"You get the fish your ball landed on," the carnie said in a pinched voice.

"What difference does it make?"

"Exactly, so take the fish I'm giving ya and scram, kid," the carnie retorted, snapping open a clear plastic bag.

"Fine, but maybe I should tell all of these people about how the game is gaffed before I go," Craig said, slyly.

This got the carnie's attention, and now he was giving him a look of utter dislike; blue eyes crinkled at the corners in an avalanche of wrinkles.

"So, you know the Talk, huh, Townie?" He asked.

"Sure do," Craig replied. "My uncle taught me some."

"And here I thought you were just a chump," the carnie chuckled. "Fine, kid. Which one you want?"

"That one," Craig said, pointing to the Kyle fish. "It's perfect."

It was with wide, green eyes that Kyle accepted the goldfish as it swirled within the plastic confines of the bag, the early evening sunshine striking its scales and making them burn. Craig had been right, the fish's coloring was almost exactly the same as Kyle's hair; a fact that thrilled him more than it probably should.

"You won this for me?" He asked, holding the bag up and peering inside. "Really?"

Craig shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, admiring and fiercely glad about the blush stealing across Kyle's face; knowing he was the one who put it there but confused about noticing it at all.

"You said you always wanted a pet, remember?" He asked. "I figured that even your mom can't get too bent out of shape over a fish."

"You'd be surprised," Kyle replied, grinning. "I love it, though. I'm also impressed that you won it all...those games are never very fair."

"I have my ways," Craig replied, simply. He looked around. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they all decided to ride the roller coaster one last time before we left," Kyle said, a finger tracing over the bag. "I wasn't feeling it, besides, I wanted to tell you something."

"Oh?" Craig asked, ignoring his suddenly hastened heartbeat.

"Well, I took your advice," Kyle smiled, almost looking a little shy. "I told Stan the truth while we were on the Ferris wheel."

"That was an interesting choice of venues," Craig replied, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, I knew he wouldn't be able to go anywhere," Kyle replied, looking a wee bit sly; the change only serving to make him more tooth-rottingly adorable. Craig rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the fish instead; sunset scales glowing now in the dying light of the sun.

"So, what's the verdict?" He asked.

"You were right," Kyle said, lowering the bag and cupping it in both of his hands. "He said it didn't make a difference at all, that we'd always be friends no matter what."

"Of course," Craig sighed. "I told you so."

"You did, but there's more to it, though," Kyle said, and now his cheeks were as red as the goldfish nestled in his hands. "A lot more."

"Is that so?" Craig asked, and he had a sneaking suspicion of what was about to be confessed. He steeled himself for the inevitable.

"Remember how I told you that On My Own was my favorite song from Les Miserables?" Kyle asked, the sudden inquiry startling Craig a little; he hadn't expected that.

"Sure, yeah."

"Well, it's because the lyrics just kind of spoke to me, you know?" He hummed a little and then sang a few in his squeaky, quickly-changing voice. "On my own, pretending he's beside me. All alone, I walk with him 'til morning..."

Now Craig really didn't like the direction this conversation was taking, but he waited; his eyebrows raised in expectation.

"I can't believe I'm telling you this," Kyle said, pushing some stray curls from his brow; the fish balanced in one hand now. "This is crazy."

"Kyle, I know you like Stan, okay?" Craig said, softly; wanting to save them both from this conversation but for entirely different reasons. "I figured it out a long time ago."

"Y-you did?" Kyle squeaked, his whole face on fire now. "How did -"

"It was obvious," Craig said. "You're not as good at hiding secrets as you think, dude."

"So, do you think he knows...?" Kyle asked, looking at the ground as he kicked at a clump of grass; calliope music and shouts from the crowd swathing around them and becoming a multicolored, tangled blur. "Do you think he could ever, you know," he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish that question; maybe afraid of the answer or of the unknown. Who could say?

Craig sighed as he watched the Kyle fish bump against the side of the bag; trapped in someone's hands and being none the wiser. This thought made his mouth go dry as he tried to formulate a response.

"No, I don't think he realizes anything," he said, his thoughts becoming derisive when considering how dense and clueless Stan could be; especially when it came to matters of the heart. "And, yes Kyle, I think he could love you; easily. That is, if he's into guys."

"You really think so?" Kyle asked, green eyes soaked in an excitement that bordered on becoming tangible; its power and sweetness lacing the air and making it hard for Craig to breathe.

Craig just nodded, his mouth and tongue suddenly unable to articulate anymore words; not when it came to this subject. His heartbeat had slowed down significantly, and now it seemed to be surrounded by an ache that could never be explained in sounds; really, it could only be felt to be understood. How could he possibly explain to Kyle that anyone who was worth anything could love him without question; so long as they had the power to see what Craig saw?

"Oh, they're back," Kyle said, suddenly; waving his hand and looking beyond Craig's shoulder. Holding up his new fish, he grinned when Stan appeared; black hair shining among the carnival lights. "Look what Craig won for me!"

"Dude, that's awesome," Stan said, admiring the fish. He glanced at Craig and grinned. "Way to go, Tucker."

"Right," Craig snapped, jamming his hands in his pockets and looking away.

Later on that night, as everyone dozed in Mrs. Broflovski's van, Kyle poked Craig's leg to get his attention. They were sitting in the back row along with Stan, and Kyle was in the middle while Craig had the window seat. He'd opted to put in his earbuds and just drift along with the music, because it always seemed to have the ability to sooth an aching heart; though it wasn't proving as effective as usual on this particular night.

"What are you listening to?" Kyle asked, his voice a husky whisper; Stan asleep next to him.

Without speaking, Craig just took out one earbud and handed it to Kyle, who tucked it into his ear and smiled a little; adjusting his new fish in his lap and making the plastic crinkle.

"Smashing Pumpkins, huh? Man, you're taking it back."

"Good music never goes out of style," Craig said, looking away and watching the stars fly past in a heavy violet sky, little twinges of navy blue fading outward at the edges. He always wondered how mankind could even focus on their small woes when the universe was so fucking monumental and eternal, but it couldn't be helped; man was hopelessly stuck on himself and everyone thought their temporary problems were so important.

After awhile, as the music wore on and the night continued to fade around them, the sky blackening like India ink spilled across a canvas, Craig's heart almost stopped when he felt a fragile weight on his shoulder. Looking over, he saw Kyle's head resting there, his fragrant curls smelling of the carnival; fried foods and burnt sugar and warm winds, but the apple scent was there, too; caught among the strands. His chest rose and fell in delicate movements, his eyes closed as he slept soundly. Feeling impetuous, Craig dared to drop a kiss among the wild tangle, and waited with baited breath for Kyle's reaction, but sighed when it didn't come, and he turned back to the window; heart hammering away in his chest and continuing to ache steadily.

 **Present Day**

Craig couldn't remember ever waking up feeling more fulfilled or completely at ease with the world. How could one night make the world fall into line so nicely, every piece fitting into its exact and proper place? He blinked his eyes open and even the sunshine seemed new and perfect, flooding the room with its dusky near-dawn quality; the trills of birds in the trees outside the window a symphony that had the power to steal his breath away. Everything felt so right, and it was with love-filled eyes that he gazed down at his prize, his fire, his Kyle; who lay nestled in his arms and still fast asleep; soft skin glowing like pearls in the light of a morning just being born.

He could vividly recall the night before, of finally having Kyle in his arms and laid against cotton sheets and moaning for him; just for him. Craig could still feel the lingering, ethereal heat and tightness wrapping around him, and this thought alone was enough to make him feel aroused; his breath coming in little pulses as he hugged Kyle close and kissed his hair. The scents of apples, spice, and sex filled up his lungs, and he truly believed that he was the luckiest person in the world that morning; no one even had a fraction of his delights. Jostling Kyle just a little, tenderly, he tried to awaken him, practically burning for the need to be with him again; capturing him and filling him with his adoration.

Kyle was still so warm, practically feverish, as he began to rouse, and his eyes opened wide and caught the sunlight; green as grass without a fraction of scarlet. He looked around, eyes droopy with fatigue, until he saw that he was held tightly in Craig's arms and then he sat up; face wild with confusion and sudden fear.

"W-what's going on?" He asked, looking around like a startled deer. "W-why am I in your bed again?" He glanced at Craig, who remained silent and smiling; watchful. "Craig?"

"I came home from work last night and you were waiting for me, Kyle," he explained, voice soothing and careful. Reaching up, he stroked some wayward curls from Kyle's face. "You said you wanted me. Don't you remember?"

"No, I -" Kyle broke off, a streak of vermilion bleeding into his eyes; but only a fraction. "I fell asleep in your bed," he whispered. "I can remember that much, and I can remember missing you...and being so sad that you weren't here."

He looked down at himself, still wearing Craig's oversized t-shirt and nothing else. A blush stained his cheeks as he tugged at the garment, one pale shoulder exposed to the sunlight when the shirt draped around him again; making Craig's mouth water violently.

"What's happening to me?" Kyle asked. "My mind is so fuzzy and I can hardly remember anything. I...I feel like I'm coming apart and I keep coming to you like this; crawling into your bed, and -"

Craig sat up and cupped Kyle's face with one hand, drawing him close and kissing pink, petal-soft lips.

"Don't you remember anything else from last night?" Craig asked, nipping at his bottom lip gently; his other hand coming to settle on Kyle's naked thigh.

"Oh, no," Kyle said, and the agony in his voice made Craig draw back to study his face. Teardrops were collecting in Kyle's conflicted eyes, and falling in streaks down his cheeks. "Craig, did we...? We didn't...?"

"Yes," Craig replied, brushing away tears and kissing Kyle's closed eyes; relishing the saltiness coating his tongue. "You wanted it, Kyle."

"I-I did?" Kyle asked, voice childlike and breakable; pleading for reassurance. "I don't know, Craig. This doesn't feel right."

"It's better than right, it's perfect," Craig replied, brushing Kyle's words aside as his arousal continued to burn. It was different this morning, though. Last night he had wanted to be gentle, but today his wants were feeling more predatory; bordering on violence and fire, a need to claim Kyle's spirit, and not just his body. "You begged for it, Kyle," he whispered, kissing plump lips and sighing into the sweetness.

"No," Kyle said, pushing away and standing up; body shaky as he tried to stay on his feet. "I have to go call Stan, okay? I know he has to be so worried about me after I blew him off yesterday."

Rage filtered through Craig's brain as he watched Kyle pad across the floor; scrawny, bare legs white and his t-shirt still drifting over his shoulder and dipping low, exposing a sharp shoulder blade. Clenching his hands around the comforter, he stayed still until Kyle had left the room and then he was jumping out of bed; feet cold against the floorboards as he followed him down the hall.

 _Stan, he's still thinking of Stan,_ he seethed in his head as he pushed the door open. _Even after last night, he's still -_

He stopped and saw that Kyle already had his phone in his hands, his eyes fearful as he saw Craig standing in the doorway; hands visibly shaking. The look took Craig completely aback; Kyle had never really looked at him with true fear, and now he almost seemed to be regarding Craig as a stranger, even though he loved him so much. Hadn't he proven that just the night before?

"Put the phone down," he said, voice low and deadly. Unbidden, thoughts of fucking Kyle in his own bed came into Craig's head, and he had to shake the notion away. It wasn't one filled with softness, no, he could see blood falling down white thighs; in between where the softest, most vulnerable flesh could be found. Saliva filled his mouth and his hands clenched; dark, secret desires registering and opening like butterfly wings.

He'd come so far and struggled for so long, and still, still Kyle was calling out for Stan. How could that be? Couldn't he see the truth? Walking slowly into the room, Craig shut the door and locked it; his mind not working clearly and seemingly operating on instinct alone.

"Craig?" Kyle asked, backing away until his legs hit the bed and he yelped a little. "Craig, what are you doing?"

"I told you I loved you last night," Craig replied, stalking closer. "Remember?"

The scarlet had disappeared from Kyle's eyes now, and all that was left was the clover green; striking bright from fear and fever.

"I-I think so, but Craig -"

"But you're still thinking about him, aren't you?" Craig asked, and he ripped the phone from Kyle's hand. "About Stan."

"Craig, just stop," Kyle sobbed now, trying to reach for his phone but not having a prayer; Craig was so tall and he was just so tiny. "I don't know what you want from me, and I can't even think straight!"

"You know exactly what I want," Craig said, and he slammed the phone down on Kyle's bedside table. Placing a hand on the back of his head, Craig yanked Kyle toward him and kissed his mouth; Kyle resisting for a moment before opening up to him and sighing.

When he pulled away, Craig could see that Kyle's eyes were swiftly reddening, and a glazed look of obedient compliance was passing over him; saliva falling from the corner of his mouth as he looked up at Craig. Suddenly, Damien's voice was floating into Craig's mind; the words taking on new meaning regarding the elixir he'd supplied:

 _"It isn't going to hurt him. It's going to influence him; give you an edge."_

Is this what he meant? Kyle bending whenever Craig exerted his will, or nudged him in a certain direction? Is that the sort of influence, power, he was going to have over Kyle forever, or would he eventually just submit and understand that what Craig was doing was the best for everyone?

Such thoughts faded away into ash as Craig looked into Kyle's eyes, and his gaze raked over his form; still warm from sleep and practically trembling, almost like he was wordlessly begging to be taken. Red was quickly saturating green, and Craig couldn't wait another moment; he'd waited so long and paid his dues. He _deserved_ this.

Roughly, he pulled Kyle close and kissed his lips again, his tongue opening him up and thrusting inside; saliva mixing and apple fragrance washing over Craig until he moaned. Kyle resisted for a moment and pulled away, his eyes so turbulent as the green was conquered again.

"Craig, stop. Please, I can't -"

"Be quiet," he commanded, and Kyle's mouth closed immediately; almost like his lips were sewn shut by an unseen force. "You want this, Kyle; I know you do."

Craig's hands drifted down Kyle's sides and lifted the t-shirt a little, his fingers skimming over his slim waist and coming to rest on his pert backside; squeezing it roughly. Kyle yelped a little, but arched into the touch, his arms wrapping around Craig's neck and holding him tightly. Craig couldn't help but smirk as he kissed his little redhead's neck, relishing in the power as Kyle quaked under his fingertips.

"See?" He murmured. "Stop fighting me and just give in, Kyle."

"Yes," Kyle replied, his voice a lost and hopeless whisper; only a thread of regret weaving through but Craig could easily push that aside. He knew what was best, and it was about time Kyle saw it too.

Craig licked along Kyle's exposed shoulder and turned him around, leaning him over the bed. Suckling at his fingers, he entered Kyle and smiled to hear him crying out as he spread him apart; one and then two fingers sneaking inside and opening him.

"I'm kind of in the mood to be rough," he said, fucking Kyle with his fingers as the boy beneath him thrashed about; lips parted as he moaned and begged. "What about you?"

"Do whatever you want," Kyle replied, pushing back against Craig's hand and spreading his legs a little wider. "I just want to make you happy."

"Oh, do you?" Craig asked, and he slipped a third finger in; eliciting another cry from Kyle's lips. Sliding in and out, his erection was painful under his boxers. Fleeting images of fucking Kyle until blood ran down his thighs assaulted him, and he was turning the boy around and pushing him onto his knees. "Prove it," he said, pushing Kyle's head down on his cock.

Red eyes glowed before closing completely, and Kyle was taking Craig into his mouth; his wetness saturating the velvety skin and making Craig almost weep because it was just so beautiful, all of it. He could make love to Kyle whenever he wanted, but he could also act out his fantasies, and he had so many; why had he waited so long to make his move?

 _You're turning Kyle into your puppet,_ a savage voice inside of Craig's head whispered to him. Brutally, he told the voice to shut the fuck up, even if it had a grain of truth in it, and he willed sudden thoughts of Pip away, too; his slack doll's face and lost eyes, almost like a real person had never existed in the first place. This was completely different! This was love, this was adoration, this was -

Craig groaned as Kyle took him into his mouth completely now, and he was getting dangerously close to the edge; his toes practically creeping across and he didn't want it to end like this. Easing out of Kyle's mouth, he leaned him over the bed again and gripped his hands behind his back; holding him fast as he entered him; his opening slick and ready, proving that Craig was his perfect fit in all things.

"I love you," Craig breathed, thrusting into the body he adored so; everything becoming lost in a tide of oceans parting and fires smoldering. The whole world was waiting in the wings as he moved inside of Kyle, who arched and squeaked under Craig's hold; slender back blinding white and all of his bones so fragile and breakable. He wasn't meant for a world like this, and Craig could see it; that's why he had to keep him safe in a cage of his own construction, gilded and completely impervious to any threat.

Searing strokes gave way to hot come spurting inside of Kyle's body, and he was leaning forward to rain kisses down on that perfect, sloping back; his tongue drifting over bumps of backbone. Craig was aware that Kyle was still giving off waves of heat and trembling violently, and as he pulled out he held him close; sitting on the bed and draping him in his lap. Obediently, Kyle kissed Craig's cheeks as the tremors continued to break through him, but when he pulled away Craig could see that, while Kyle's eyes were blood red and dazed, fresh tears were pouring from them; a secret sadness pulsing in scarlet depths and crying out for deliverance.

Craig was tending the bar and mixing drinks, but his mind was really with his Kyle; wrapped up in Craig's blankets and waiting for him in his bed. He'd had to leave Kyle reluctantly, after a full day of sex and fantasies unwinding; taking Kyle in his bed and then the shower, on the living room couch and on the floor in front of the fireplace. He'd even lifted him onto the kitchen counter where he'd parted slim thighs, his cock delving into the most exquisite heat he ever could've imagined; Kyle's panting mouth flush against his neck with every thrust and dirty word. He had gasped for more and more as the day wore on, until even Craig had had to stop from exhaustion; his whole body pleading for respite.

Kyle's eyes had remained a deep and hellish red for the entire day, fading only a little when his phone had rung and he'd seen Stan's name on the display, but Craig had quickly nipped that in the bud; tearing the phone from his hands and shutting it off completely.

"Stan," Kyle whispered, reaching for the phone but capitulating when Craig shushed him and told him to keep still; that he knew what was best.

"But I miss him," he'd said, his voice faraway and groping in the dark; green erupting in his irises. "I need to talk to him."

"You will, soon," Craig had replied, kissing his neck and running a hand through his curls. "But you aren't feeling well today, remember? You need to rest."

Craig had tucked a feverish and incoherent Kyle into bed before leaving for work, his hand straying on the doorknob as he watched him curl into his blankets and fall asleep. He'd worried about leaving him alone but realized that it couldn't be helped, and he was just glad that he'd contacted Kyle's job and let them know he'd be out for the remainder of the week; that he had the flu and needed time to convalesce.

Now he was at work and he was mixing cosmopolitans and bullshit, when really he should've been at home with his Kyle; nursing him with tender words and kisses and -

"Rough sex?" A dark voice asked, and Craig groaned to see Damien sitting at the bar; elegant hands clasped and amber lighting striking rich, black hair.

"What the fuck do you want?" He snapped, whipping out the makings for a Manhattan before Damien could ask for it.

"How is your little cherub?" Damien asked, red-black eyes watching as Craig mixed his drink.

"I don't know, honestly," Craig replied, sliding the drink over and gripping the bar; knuckles whitening. "I mean -"

"You've fucked him," Damien supplied, sniffing the air slightly. He grinned, wickedly sharp canines sparkling. "Multiple times. How was he?"

Craig's face flamed at Damien's words, and he really had to control himself from flying over the bar and slitting his conniving throat.

"That isn't the point!" He seethed, leaning forward. "Kyle is fucking falling apart. Sure, he's more responsive to me, and I think he might be able to love me back someday, but," he sighed, his head dropping slightly. "He keeps asking about Stan, and he's so weak and practically burning up. I didn't want to make him sick!"

Damien scoffed, waving his words away with one slim fingered hand.

"He's just adjusting to the poison," he said, laughing at Craig's reaction to the word; becoming a little white. "Yes, it was poison, Craig; accept it. We're basically rewiring him from the inside out, so yeah, he's going to have a hard time as his body changes. As for him asking for Stan, we've already talked about that, haven't we?"

"I just don't think it needs to go that far," Craig said, guilt and fear plaguing him. "I mean, I'm not Stan's biggest fan, but we've known each other since we were kids. How could I -"

"Very easily," Damien cut in, taking a small sip of his drink and sighing happily. "You've gotten so much better at this," he said, shaking the drink a little. "If you want Kyle completely, you need to take out the competition; otherwise, he'll keep pining for Stan, and eventually, his body will give out."

"What do you mean?" Craig asked, vague nausea seeping through him.

"His soul will be torn in two and he'll become a completely useless puppet, not even capable of responding to the simplest commands. Even Pip has more presence of mind than Kyle would have; and you've seen what he's like." Damien shrugged. "With that shit in his bloodstream, he needs to accept that he belongs to you; whether by force or by naturally coming to that conclusion. If not, well," he tore a napkin in half. "Basically, it's either Stan or you, Tucker; but it can't be both, so take care of business before Kyle has to pay the price."

"You can't be serious," Craig said, voice faint.

"Of course I am." Damien finished off the drink and stretched languidly. "This is actually an interesting development. Normally this sort of spell completely seduces a person, and they can't help but be claimed by the person who desires them, especially after being fucked; but Kyle is a tough nut to crack." He grinned, eyes cruel and malicious. "He must really love Stan, because his entire soul is fighting against you tooth and nail. How does that make you feel?"

"It makes me feel like you fucking tricked me, you son of a bitch," Craig sneered, reaching out and snatching the glass from in front of Damien. "You should've told me that I might have to fucking murder someone before letting me -"

"I didn't trick you," Damien said, holding up a hand; eyes sharp as a scalpel as he regarded him. "You jumped in without thinking about the consequences because you're a lovestruck fool, and whose fault is that? Certainly not mine." Standing, he threw some money on the bar. "And I'd suggest you check your tone," he added. "You seem to forget whom you're talking to."

Craig sneered and grabbed the money, wishing he could throw it back in that gloating, spiteful face.

"Might I add that the time for payment is drawing near," Damien purred. "So, I suggest you sort out your priorities and do what needs to be done; otherwise all of your sacrifices will be for nothing, and you still won't have your Kyle, as you like to call him, right?" He sneered, laughing when he saw Craig's stricken face.

"Oh, yes, I can read your thoughts; every single one," he said, walking away. "I know how you want to make him bleed, even though you just love him so much. You are one sick puppy, Tucker; I must say." Damien looked back over his shoulder, his face delighted now. "By the way, you're about to have a visitor, kiddo," he said. "Have fun."

"What -" Craig started to say, but Damien was gone; extinguished like a candle flame and only leaving the scent of brimstone behind, laced with gore. "That dirty prick," Craig muttered, glancing around and seeing that the other patrons were still lost in their drinks and dates; the muted lighting sparkling off of the piano, and suddenly his fingers ached to play, to make sense of a nightmare in the process of unfolding. Before he could move, though, Stan was suddenly there, eyes blazing as his hands locked on the bar.

"I want to know what the fuck is going on, Craig," he seethed, his face resembling a wolf that was moving in for the kill; he would not be deterred. "I tried calling Kyle all day and then I went by your apartment and knocked for a fucking half an hour; no goddamn answer."

Craig regarded his adversary with cold, appraising eyes; actively refusing to be drawn into his drama even as his heart and blood raced.

"Kyle was sick today," he said, wiping the bar idly. "I'm pretty sure he was asleep, and that's why he didn't answer the door. As for trying to call him, I saw him turn off his phone this morning." He shrugged, assuming an air of cool indifference. "Maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you, did you ever consider that?"

"Bullshit!" Stan yelled, slamming a fist down on the bar; causing the bar's occupants to look at him with wide eyes. Ignoring them, Stan kept his eyes locked on Craig, and they narrowed dangerously. "Kyle isn't acting like himself, and I know you have something to do with it, Tucker," he seethed. "I've been watching the way you treat him for years, and I know you fucking have a thing for him; don't deny it."

Craig rolled his eyes and groaned, putting on the perfect display of casual aggravation.

"You sound crazy, Stan," he said. "Have you been smoking with Kenny again?"

"Don't fucking try to change the subject, now tell me what the fuck is going on with Kyle before I -"

"Before you what?" Craig asked, voice soft and chilled; hands clenching beneath the bar until his nails broke through the skin and drew blood into his palms. Suddenly, he could imagine taking a knife to Stan's throat and just slitting through it; severing the jugular and watching everything seep out as he gasped for his final breath. Or maybe, just maybe, he'd plunge the knife into his back so it would pierce his heart from behind, tearing upward and just destroying every valve and ventricle. These sudden dark impulses almost took his breath away, but he just had to wonder why he was hesitating. Why should he give a fuck what happened to Stan, after all? Kyle was his main concern, right; his ultimate goal?

"Look, I'm just worried about Kyle, okay?" Stan said, raking a hand through his hair and looking at Craig with pleading, bloodshot eyes. "I just want to know what's going on because I love him, and I want him to be okay. Can you understand that?"

 _God, he looks like shit,_ Craig mused, hands still clenched. _He probably hasn't been sleeping very well._ He had to fight back a smirk, mainly because he'd been sleeping very well; how could he help it when he got to fall asleep with Kyle in his arms, fresh from being fucked until he cried?

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Craig said, untying his apron and laying it under the bar. "If he doesn't want to talk to you, I can't force him to do anything."

"That's a bunch of crap," Stan snapped. "You constantly try to control him, so don't act like you don't have some influence here."

"Fine, whatever," Craig said, stepping out from behind the bar and taking savage pleasure in towering over Stan, who was tall in his own rights. He almost felt like he had the power to snap him like a twig; a pathetic, heartsick twig. "I'll talk to him and tell him to call you. Satisfied?"

"I won't be satisfied until he moves in with me," Stan retorted. "He needs to get away from you, that much I know."

"Oh, fuck you," Craig said, pushing past Stan and resisting the urge to ram a fist into his gut. "I'm gonna play for awhile. Later."

"Hey! Don't fucking walk away from me!" Stan yelled, reaching out and grabbing Craig's shoulder; his fingers sinking into his skin.

Immediately, Craig froze and every instinct inside of him was telling him to just drop the motherfucker, but he refrained; more so for Kyle's sake than his own. Also, he didn't want to lose his job, being pretty sure his boss wouldn't respond too well to him killing someone while on the clock.

"You better let go of me, Stan," he said, voice low and threatening; shards of ice lacing the words. "I'm warning you."

Stan just dug in tighter, until Craig wrenched himself away, whirling on him and practically salivating at the prospect of getting rid of him right there and then. Why had he ever hesitated? That's what he got for being a fucking sentimental bleeding heart.

"Get the fuck out of here," Craig said, pointing toward the door. "I already told you I'd talk to him, so back the fuck off."

"I'm coming by tomorrow whether Kyle calls me or not," Stan said, jamming his hands into his pockets and beginning to back away. "I'm not just going to let this go."

"No, I'm sure you won't," Craig said, turning his back and essentially dismissing him; his decision regarding what needed to be done becoming easier and easier with each passing moment.

Craig fully expected Kyle to be in bed asleep when he came home that night, the hour far after midnight and the stars converging at the windows; silver-bright and sliding through the sky. When he stepped into the apartment, he saw that the lamp with the Tiffany glass was burning its amber, green, and red glow, and Kyle was waiting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and reading a book; the TV playing softly in the background while a fire crackled on the hearth. Walking into such a cozy, domestic scene completely arrested Craig's heart; this was all he'd ever really wanted, this simple, comforting bliss.

"How was work?" Kyle asked, laying his book aside and standing up. Coming over to Craig with his arms open, he was clad in another of his long t-shirts, one shoulder cutely exposed and dotted with freckles; his feet bare.

"Work was work," Craig replied, gathering him into his arms and pulling him close; burying his nose in Kyle's freshly-cleaned hair. "I wanted to be here with you the whole time."

"All I did was bum around and study. Mmm, I missed you, though," Kyle said, hugging him close.

"Really?" Craig asked, his heart soaring suddenly and daring to believe that on some level, untouched by incantations or trickery, Kyle might love him on his own.

"Yes, very much." Drawing back, he looked crestfallen for a moment. "I was lonely, and I couldn't find my phone; have you seen it? I wanted to call Stan."

Deflated, Craig untangled himself from Kyle's grasp and reached into his back pocket. Pulling the phone out, he handed it over.

"Sorry, I forgot I had it," Craig lied easily, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it in the hall closet. "Speaking of Stan, he came by the bar tonight and said he tried stopping by here. Didn't you hear him knocking?"

Kyle shook his head, green eyes sad; all traces of red momentarily absent.

"I slept for a long time," he said, trailing behind Craig as he came to sit on the couch; holding his hands out toward the fire and rubbing them. "And I had these really weird dreams, too."

Craig brushed a hand over Kyle's forehead when he sat beside him, almost recoiling at how hot he was; the sheen of sweat draping over his skin and saturating his hair.

"What kind of dreams?"

"They were more like nightmares, I guess, and they had this really familiar person in them," he said, his head sinking onto Craig's shoulder. "He kind of looked like that guy I've seen at the bar a few times, the one you talk to all the time."

Craig froze, his hand stopping as it was in the process of winding a red curl around his finger.

"Oh? What guy?"

"You know, the dark haired one who's always really nicely dressed; with the really pale skin and weird eyes," Kyle explained, sighing as Craig continued twiddling his curls. "He kept saying weird shit, too. In the dream, I mean."

"What'd he say?" Craig asked, his voice faint as his mouth dried out a little.

"Mostly he repeated himself," Kyle said. "He kept saying he'd see me soon. It was bizarre and it felt so real, you know? It was definitely one of the more vivid dreams I've ever had."

 _That dirty motherfucker,_ Craig thought. _What the fuck is he up to now?_

"I don't put a whole lot of stock in dreams," Craig said, nonchalantly; making a mental note to take the matter up with Damien and politely instruct him to fuck off. "Don't waste your energy on that bullshit."

"Hmm," Kyle said, nuzzling him a little. "It sucks that I didn't even realize Stan had stopped by; he must be so worried and here I am...," he trailed off, looking at his hands clasped in his lap.

"Here you are...?" Craig coaxed, kissing his cheek.

"Well, what are we doing here, Craig? I feel like I keep blanking out and sure, I'm starting to feel a little more like myself, but we can't keep doing what we're doing, you know? It isn't fair to Stan."

"Fuck Stan," Craig growled, pulling him close and kissing his mouth, his teeth nipping at Kyle's bottom lip.

"Funny, he said the same thing about you," Kyle replied wryly while pushing himself away. "But, still, this isn't right, Craig. I don't do shit like this; I'm not a cheater."

"Oh, really?" Craig asked, his hand creeping under Kyle's t-shirt and sliding up his thigh; fingers wrapping around his hipbone. "Mmm, no bottoms again? Kyle, you know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"

"Craig, don't," Kyle whimpered as Craig leaned him back on the couch, his other hand ghosting under his shirt and settling on Kyle's other hipbone. "Please," he said, trembling as Craig's lips dropped kisses along his abdomen, stopping just above his pubis.

"You don't want me to stop and you know it," Craig said, his tongue lapping at the tender flesh of Kyle's inner thighs; his musky scent filling up his senses. "That's why we fucked all day today."

"Don't call it that," Kyle breathed, his head thrown back as his fingers tangled themselves in Craig's hair. "It's vulgar."

"No, this is vulgar," Craig said, his mouth settling on Kyle's quickly stiffening flesh, making him arch in surprise and cry out. "Oh, did you like that?"

"W-we can't do this right now," Kyle panted, his eyes awash in red now with only glimmers of green remaining.

"Oh? And why not?" Craig asked, continuing to tease Kyle's cock with his tongue.

"I made you dinner," Kyle said, his breaths coming quicker now.

Craig pulled away, wiping at his mouth and completely taken aback. Kyle hadn't fixed dinner for him the entire time they'd been living together; though he'd always secretly wished that he would. He'd heard from Stan plenty of times that Kyle was a wonderful cook.

"Really? Why?"

"I told you I wanted to make you happy," Kyle replied, shyly. "Do you want to eat? I made chicken pot pie."

"Of course, yeah," Craig said, sitting up; his heart flooding with love for Kyle; sweet, domestic Kyle. A wicked thought occurred to him, and he decided to experiment a little; test the extent of his influence. "And I want you to serve it to me."

"Sure," Kyle said, standing up.

"Naked," Craig said, crossing his arms.

"You can't be serious," Kyle replied, flushing.

"I mean it."

Craig watched closely as Kyle seemed to go to war with himself, his face displaying a myriad of emotions as he considered Craig's request.

"It would make me happy, Kyle," Craig continued, deciding to see just how far down the rabbit hole they could go.

All at once, Kyle nodded his head and slowly began pulling his shirt over his head. Craig gazed at him with ravenous eyes as his pale body was exposed, the firelight stealing over his skin and turning it red, gold, and orange. He was just so fucking beautiful that Craig couldn't help but sigh. He looked into Kyle's eyes and saw that they were completely drenched in vermilion now; their focus a little dazed as he stood naked before him; completely exposed.

"On second thought, I can eat later," Craig said, rising from his place and scooping Kyle into his arms. Carrying him down the hallway, he took him to his room and lay him on the bed; his entire body aching with need as he slid off his jeans.

With lubed up fingers, Craig delved into Kyle and kissed his gasping mouth; their lips hot against each other's as he gently loosened him. Almost losing his mind with desire, he slid into Kyle's heat and fucked him gently with slow rolls of his hips, his teeth nipping at his white neck and making him moan.

"You know what else would make me happy?" Craig asked, suddenly; his voice hitching with every thrust and pull on his throbbing cock. Kyle's little gasps were sweet music in his ears, filling him up with a painful happiness that almost destroyed him.

"W-what?" Kyle replied between breathy pants.

"Forget about Stan, Kyle," Craig said, burying his face in Kyle's neck as he came closer and closer to the edge; glory waiting just on the other side.

"I can't do that," Kyle sobbed, turning his face away. "I love him!"

"Why can't you love me?" Craig asked, voice savage and tight as he thrust into Kyle harder, making him sob louder; his fingernails digging into Craig's shoulders.

Kyle didn't reply, his sobs continuing as Craig took him higher and higher; past the stars and Pillars of Creation. He was coming undone as he became trapped in Kyle's warmth, even as his heart felt shattered because all of this was a lie. Kyle clung to Stan with a tenacity that seemed unbreakable, his thoughts no doubt straying to him even as Craig finished; Kyle's thighs hugging his sides tight as his head lolled on the pillow.

 _It doesn't matter,_ Craig thought, his mind drifting now as he settled his head against Kyle's and kissed his temple. _I'll take care of both of our problems at the same time, and then we can always be like this. Forever._


	12. Chapter 12

This part was super fun to write, you guys. Mainly bc it involves hints of demonic possession and corruption, lmao. Poor Kyle, I really make him suffer so. Oh, and I'm so mean to Stan in this chapter. Poor dears. :( Craig is progressively becoming darker, but I guess that's what desire does over time...warps you until you're unrecognizable. Get some help, kiddo. PS: Apologies in advance to any fans of Cats; I mean no disrespect, lol.

 **Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies**  
 **So I don't know what's real and what's not**  
 **Always confusing the thoughts in my head**  
 **So I can't trust myself anymore**  
 **I'm dying again**

 **-Evanescence, Going Under  
**

* * *

 **9.15 Years Prior**

"I don't see why you're dragging me out tonight."

Kyle looked up from tying his shoe, his face impassive.

"Because you need to get a life, dude; it's as simple as that. You haven't done a damn thing all summer."

"I've done plenty," Craig muttered, leaning down and admiring the goldfish he'd won for Kyle; a fish he affectionately referred to as "Kyle Fish" in his head.

"Doesn't he look great?" Kyle asked, walking over. "I always heard carnival fish never live for very long, but Chester is doing really well."

Craig rolled his eyes at the ridiculous name, which really didn't seem to suit the lovely vermilion-scaled fish, but he wasn't about to tell Kyle what he'd named it in his head.

"That name makes no sense," he said, brushing a finger over the fish bowl. "Where the hell did you even get it?"

Kyle shrugged.

"I let Ike name him," he replied. "We're sharing him."

"Naturally," Craig said. "You know, you wouldn't have to share a fucking goldfish if your mom would just lighten up a little."

"Maybe so," Kyle said, dropping some granules of fish food into Chester's bowl. "Honestly, I was lucky she let me keep him, but when she saw how excited Ike was, she relented." He grinned. "I would've just kept him hidden away in the closet if she'd tried to make me get rid of him; there's no way I would've given him up."

Craig blushed a little, touched that Kyle was so attached to the pretty fish, its fiery scales the same color as his hair. Gruffly, he cleared his throat.

"I've heard that a goldfish turns white if not exposed to sunlight," he mused, trying to change the subject to something he could handle. "I wonder if that's true."

"I think it is," Kyle said, pressing a finger against his mouth in thought. "But I don't think they turn completely white; I think their colors just start to fade."

"Well, that's pretty fucking depressing to think about," Craig said, finding it impossible to imagine Kyle without his color and spark; his almost tangible vibrancy.

Kyle punched Craig's arm lightly, a coy smile quirking his lips.

"You're stalling, Tucker," he said. "You can try to distract me all you want, but we're still going to Wendy's party."

"I really, really don't want to," Craig groaned, not relishing the idea of being surrounded by people and noise and confusion. "Why can't we just go to my house and watch movies? I finally got a copy of Rope."

"We can watch it later," Kyle replied, taking hold of Craig's arm and beginning to steer him towards the door. "Come on, the only way you're ever going to get used to being a part of things again is if you just go and do it. Now move."

"God, I don't know why I let you boss me around," Craig sighed, allowing himself to be led out of the room, although in his heart he knew exactly why he let Kyle call the shots; the knowledge deep inside him and undeniable.

The party was a wild and loud affair just like Craig had anticipated it would be; a fact that didn't help to improve his mood as he wandered the crowd with Kyle at his side. The early July evening was ripe and warm as humid winds passed through, the sun finally dipping below the horizon; orange and red light falling over everyone in bloody streaks.

"I don't know why you couldn't have just gone with Stan," Craig said as they wove through their friends and classmates, music blaring in the background; pulsing beats ricocheting across Wendy's expansive backyard. "He's way more into parties than I am, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess he is," Kyle replied, face suddenly flushed; his tone vague and small.

Craig caught the change in his demeanor immediately, having become accustomed to even the most minute details of Kyle's mood shifts. Glancing over sharply, he nudged Kyle's shoulder with his own.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," Kyle replied, glorious sunshine trapping itself in his hair and making Craig think fondly of Kyle Fish, safely at home where they should be; wrapped up in blankets and watching movies. Tiny freckles dotted his cheeks, the byproduct of lazy days spent in the summer sun.

"Dude, what the fuck? Why are you hiding shit from me?" Craig asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the fray; the crush of bodies overwhelmingly warm and frenzied as people danced and mingled.

"Look, I didn't want to bring this up because we're supposed to be having a good time, and besides, I've already bothered you with so many of my stupid problems," Kyle replied, looking down at the ground and kicking at a clump of grass.

"Quit being dumb," Craig said, feeling annoyed and hurt that Kyle still felt the need to hide things; he had really hoped they were past that point. "You can tell me anything, dammit."

"Fine," Kyle huffed, hands jammed in his pockets. "Stan's been acting weird, okay?"

"Weird, how?" Craig asked, eyes narrowing as ire rose in his blood.

"He's just been really standoffish and quiet," Kyle shrugged while clearly trying to downplay how much Stan's actions were hurting him.

"How long has he been acting like this?"

"I guess since...my birthday?" He winced, his eyes skipping over Craig's and refusing to settle; dying sunlight illuminating green irises.

"Your birthday was over a fucking month ago!" Craig yelled, his hands clenching into fists. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"I didn't want to bother you," Kyle said, softly.

"That is such bullshit," Craig seethed, quickly scanning the crowd for Marsh, his hands clenching already at the prospect of having a little talk with him. "Where the fuck is he? I'll go talk to him my damn self."

"Whoa, whoa! Hold on!" Kyle said, clutching at Craig's shirt and holding him fast. "I don't want you to say anything, Craig! Let me figure this out on my own!"

"But, Kyle, he's -"

"Look, I appreciate you wanting to help, but I need to handle this on my own, okay?" Kyle said, still holding onto Craig's shirt; his fingers brushing warm and soft against his skin. "For all I know, Stan is dealing with something completely separate from me, you know? This probably has nothing to do with what I told him."

 _Yeah, but it's making you sad,_ Craig thought, staring at Kyle until some of the rage in his blood simmered away; but still waiting in the wings to rise up.

"Fine, I'll let it go for now, but you better talk to him; or I will. Okay?"

"Sure, sure," Kyle said, grinning. "You're just like a bulldog, dude; always so defensive and ready to fight."

"Only when I give a shit," Craig muttered, a blush warming its way up his neck.

"You're just a big softy, you know that, right?" Kyle asked, finally letting go of Craig; warm fingers being drawn away and leaving him feeling a little chilled suddenly.

"Whatever," Craig said, still looking around for Stan; thoughts of shaking him until he saw reason rising in his mind. He didn't know how he knew, he just knew that Stan was avoiding Kyle because of his recent confession; there was no other explanation.

"So, what do you want to do? Dance?" Kyle asked, his voice teasing.

"I don't dance," Craig replied, flatly. "Besides, I think I know the best thing for you right now."

"What?"

"You need to get hammered, dude," Craig said, nodding his head. "Like, fucking obliterated."

"I don't know," Kyle replied, glancing around. "You know I'm a lightweight when it comes to alcohol."

"So? I'll be there to look out for you. Trust me."

The night sky arched over them into eternity and it was too beautiful for words, a fact which Kyle kept repeating ad nauseam. Craig glanced at him indulgently as they lay in the cool grass, evening breezes wafting across them and carrying sounds of the party to their ears; still raging as the night wore on.

"It's just so fucking beautiful, you know?" Kyle asked, a wine cooler gripped in his hand as his other hand traced outlines of constellations; diamond points creating a roadmap across the heavens.

"It sure is," Craig replied, still feeling relatively sober but content, basking in the heat pouring off of Kyle; the aroma of summer grasses drifting around him.

"I mean, I have those glow in the dark stars on my ceiling, but nothing compares to the real thing. I almost feel like I could fall into it and swim," Kyle slurred. "Then I could leave all of this bullshit behind."

"Is that so?" Craig asked, thinking of his childhood nightlight that he'd actually really loved; the projection of planets on his ceiling accompanying him to sleep every night. Another vague part of himself desperately wanted to sleep under Kyle's ceiling sometime so they could look at his glow in the dark stars together.

"Craig, can I ask you something?" Kyle asked, rolling onto his side and curling his hand against his face.

"Of course."

"Why did you start playing the piano? I've always wanted to ask but I kept forgetting."

"Why do you care?" Craig asked, bluntly; still surprised whenever another person took an interest in him, especially Kyle.

"Because you're my best fucking friend, you moron!" Kyle exclaimed, sounding deeply offended; slurred words pouring into the night and making Craig want to laugh out loud. It turned out Kyle was sort of a silly, emotional drunk, which proved to be immensely entertaining.

"Fine, if you must know," he murmured, "it's because of that one song from Cats."

"Cats? Cats the Musical? Oh, god; that show is the fucking worst."

"I agree, but there's one song in it that's good, and it's the one that made me give a shit about learning to play the piano."

"Which one?"

"Memory," he said, and he lifted his hands towards the sky, his fingers automatically playing the melody; every note coming to him easily. "I was five years old and my music teacher at the time, Ted, would play it for me at the end of my lessons, and I don't know; I just really liked it."

"Will you play it for me sometime?" Kyle asked, voice soft.

"If you want."

Kyle was silent for a moment, and then out of nowhere he started giggling; the sound bright even in the darkness; leaping into the air like the flames of the bonfire burning in Wendy's backyard.

"What?" Craig asked, glancing over.

"Sorry," Kyle replied, stifling his giggles with one hand but they continued to break through. "I just thought your reason for playing the piano would be, I don't know, a little more profound."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't live up to your weird, dramatic expectations," Craig grumbled, feeling annoyed but almost wanting to laugh because Kyle was; the sound of it becoming its own type of music.

Kyle's laughter subsided then, and his tone became sober even though he was clearly inebriated as hell.

"What's wrong with me, Craig?"

Craig sat up, the question completely knocking him for a loop. He studied Kyle's face in the darkness, and he was pretty sure he saw small tears falling down his cheeks.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You said that Stan wouldn't turn his back on me," he said, his voice choked up. "But now he won't even talk to me."

Craig gritted his teeth as he crawled over to Kyle, his face illuminated in the moonlight; silvering his hair.

"Then that's his fucking problem, isn't it?" He seethed, the rage rising in him again. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, Kyle; and if he can't see that, then he can go fuck himself."

"But, I love him," Kyle said, his hands coming up to cover his face as he sobbed like his heart was breaking. Now Craig was really regretting getting him drunk; some people seriously couldn't handle their alcohol.

Ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest, the way his mouth went dry as he tried to keep it together, Craig stared at Kyle and was suddenly at a loss for words. What could he possibly say now?

"Are you sure you don't want me to talk to him?" Craig asked, sharp pain digging into his heart even as he spoke the words. "Maybe I can figure out what's going on."

"No! It would be too humiliating," Kyle moaned, thick tears still streaming down his cheeks. Sitting up, he reached out a hand and braced himself against the ground. "Whoa, I feel so dizzy, dude. How much did I drink?"

Craig looked over at the stack of wine cooler and beers they'd swiped from the coolers sitting on Wendy's porch; an action that had not been easy considering there were so many adults milling about.

"I kind of lost track," Craig admitted, eyeing the clear bottles in the caustic moonlight. "If I had to go out on a limb I'd say a lot, though."

Kyle smirked through his tears.

"Thanks, that's a big help." He rubbed a hand through his grass-flecked hair while continuing to brace himself. "God, I can't believe I'm crying like this; I am such a fucking pussy."

"Wine has a tendency to make you emotional, I've noticed," Craig admitted. "Besides, I think alcohol just fucks with whatever emotion's you're dealing with when you're sober, so, really, your reaction makes sense."

"But, still, to get this fucking upset over Stan," Kyle argued. "Like, what did I even expect? That he'd find out I'm gay and just jump into my arms? Life doesn't work like that; I was just being a dumb ass."

"Yeah, kind of," Craig replied, nodding his head. Glancing over, he saw Kyle staring daggers at him and he held up his hands innocently. "Hey, I'm just agreeing with you, dude. You're right; it wouldn't have been realistic for Stan to just admit his undying love. He's fucking clueless, anyway. I wouldn't be surprised if he has no idea what his own feelings are, you know?"

"Yeah," Kyle agreed, his voice dripping with fondness. "Stan's a dipshit when it comes to emotions, huh?"

"I guess it's just part of his charm," Craig replied, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, what are you assholes doing out here by yourselves?" A voice piped up behind them, making Craig and Kyle jump a little. Glancing over his shoulder, Craig saw Kenny, Clyde, Token, and Jimmy rustling through the grasses.

"Yeah, you guys just disappeared as soon as you got here," Kenny said, a lit blunt in his hand. "What's going on?"

"We're sorting through some bullshit," Craig said, crossing his arms and annoyed that they were being interrupted.

"Well, this should help," Kenny said, holding out the blunt to Kyle. "Wanna try?"

"Hey, Kyle doesn't -" Craig started saying, but then -

"Sure, why not?" Kyle slurred, taking it from Kenny and staring at it; eyes a little bleary and red from the alcohol.

"Dude's already three sheets to the wind, you guys," Kenny snickered, gesturing at Kyle as he awkwardly brought the blunt to his lips and took a drag.

"Wait for it," Clyde chimed in, a smirk on his face.

"Kyle, you really shouldn't inhale that much your first time," Craig said, but it was too late.

Kyle doubled over and started hacking violently, the blunt still gripped in his hand. Craig shot a dirty look at Kenny who was laughing his ass off with the other guys.

"You could've fucking showed him how to do it first," he seethed, going over to Kyle and easing the blunt out of his hand.

"Where's the fun in that?" Kenny asked, wiping a tear from his eye as he continued to laugh.

"Where's the fun in kicking your ass?" Craig snapped back. "Maybe we should find out, huh?"

"Oh, lighten up, Tucker," Token replied, laughter finally subsiding. "Kyle's tough; he'll be just fine."

"Right," Craig replied, focusing his attention back on a still hacking Kyle. "Hey, are you okay?"

Kyle nodded his head, face bright red even in the darkness; tears trailing down his cheeks.

"Here, let me show you," Craig said, bringing the blunt to his lips and inhaling just a fraction; he held the smoke in his mouth for a little while, feeling it burning in his lungs and throat, and then exhaled slowly. "You don't need to take a giant hit, okay? And then just hold it for awhile. Do you want to try again?"

Kyle accepted the blunt while staring at Craig, red-streaked eyes wide.

"I didn't know you smoked, Craig."

"Dude's a fucking chimney," Kenny said, smirking. "I've smoked with him tons of times; him and Stan."

"Stan?" Kyle asked, face awash with shock. "Stan smokes, too?"

"Yeah, he'd probably be over here hogging all of my stash if he wasn't with Wendy," Kenny replied. "They're all over each other."

Kyle had just been in the process of taking another drag when he heard these words, and then he was doubled over and coughing again; almost sounding like he was about to throw up all over the grass.

"Okay, that's enough," Craig snapped, taking the blunt from Kyle's hand and jabbing it at Kenny. "Kyle's had enough of this crap for one night."

"Stan's with Wendy?" Kyle croaked out, hands firmly planted in the grass as his body convulsed with coughs and pants. "What are they doing?"

"Making out," Clyde shrugged, stepping over to take the blunt from Kenny. "Please tell me you have more of this stuff, dude."

"Of course I do," Kenny replied, waving him off and turning back to Kyle.

"They got back together at the beginning of the summer," he said, cocking a brow. "Didn't he tell you?"

"He hasn't told me anything," Kyle replied, his voice trembling.

"Yeah, he begged her to take him back," Token interjected, taking a swig of a beer stolen from Craig and Kyle's stash. "It was actually pretty pathetic."

"That's not the only thing that's pathetic," Kyle said, lowly; his hands clenching in the grass. "I'm such a fucking idiot."

"What are you talking about, dude?" Kenny asked, smirking face finally registering some concern to see Kyle so distraught.

"It's nothing," Kyle snapped, attempting to stand and almost falling over. Quickly, Craig stepped in and propped him up, his arms circling his waist.

"Let's just go," he said, feeling Kyle's body still trembling from coughing and god knew what else. "Okay?"

"You guys can't go yet," Clyde interjected; just as clueless as always. "The fireworks are about to start."

"I'm pretty sure Kyle doesn't give a fuck about fireworks right now, Clyde," Craig said, exasperation plain in his voice at these idiots' overwhelming insensitivity.

"No, it's okay," Kyle replied, taking hold of Craig's arm. "I mean, it's a fourth of July party, right? We might as well stay for the grand finale; the rest of the night's fucked anyway."

Just then, colors exploded across the sky in shimmers of gold, red, green, and violet; violent cracking sounds accompanying the fireworks as they drenched their lights against the arcing starscape. Craig tore his eyes away and his gaze drifted over to where the party was still raging; the orange bonfire crackling and leaking its burnt, woody scent into the night air. Somewhere in the fray, Stan was no doubt fucking around with Wendy while Kyle stood beside him; trying to keep his shit together as his world was steadily falling apart. This thought was enough to make Craig want to taste blood, his hands clenching in Kyle's shirt as he continued to prop him up.

"Are you glad we came now?" Kyle murmured, his voice almost lost among the explosions of the fireworks; the bright sparkles sizzling in his eyes and making them shine like stars. "I mean, at least we get to watch the fireworks together, right? That's worth something."

It's worth a lot, Craig thought, though he never would've said something like that out loud. Instead, he just nodded, turning his attention back to the sky where the fireworks sizzled and popped.

"No wonder Stan's been avoiding me," Kyle said, almost like he was talking to himself. "I'm so fucking stupid."

"That's enough," Craig replied, the defeat in Kyle's voice only reinforcing his swiftly building rage.

Later, after the party died down and Craig and Kyle were back in Kyle's room and laying in bed, Craig came to a decision that wasn't easy, but he knew it was necessary. As he gazed up at Kyle's glow in the dark stars spattered across the ceiling, their greenish cast filtering through the blue darkness saturating the room, he knew he'd have to take matters into his own hands and talk to Stan; even if it meant trampling on his own heart.

Glancing at Kyle, who was finally asleep and breathing deeply after throwing up violently upon their return, Craig could feel a raw tenderness searing through him; practically ripping him to shreds as he lay there. He'd never seen Kyle so pulverized, so beaten down, and he knew that he wouldn't say anything to Stan anytime soon; that was just his nature. Kyle would've gladly suffered in silence if it meant Stan could be happy, but that bullshit just didn't wash with Craig; Kyle shouldn't have to hurt like that if he could help it.

Sitting up, Craig swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, padding over to Kyle's desk to take a peek at Kyle Fish, its swirling fins wafting through the water; typically bright colors muted in the darkness of the room. Visions of the summer unfolding before him arrested his thoughts for a moment, days and nights spent with Kyle without Stan around to ruin things; a golden opportunity to maybe, just maybe influence the situation in his favor; but Craig pushed the idea away. Somewhere along the way, something had shifted inside of his heart and now it was coming to the light; vague longing becoming sharp and bright even as he tried to ignore it.

 _God, I fucking love him_ , Craig thought, the realization a punch to his psyche that had the power to stagger him; leave him completely breathless. He looked at Kyle Fish as he tried to muddle through his thoughts, the truth staring him in the eyes and forcing him to face it.

How could this happen? Tweek wasn't even gone a year, and yet here he was, falling hopelessly in love with someone else. It was fucking crazy. Turning away from the fish, Craig came back to the bed and sat on its edge, the milky moonlight falling through panes of glass and wavering across Kyle's form under the comforter. Reaching out a hand, Craig stroked wayward curls from Kyle's forehead but he didn't stir, his breaths deep and even. Splashes of freckles over his cheekbones made him look so boyish and cute; a little woodland creature that needed to be protected and preserved.

 _He just made it so easy,_ Craig thought, continuing to stroke Kyle's soft hair. _He's so fucking easy to love, and I bet he doesn't even realize it._

That's why Stan's reaction was so hard to understand, though Craig could see the trouble if Stan simply wasn't into guys. But, still, why couldn't he just talk to Kyle instead of shutting him out? That was unforgivable. Weren't they supposed to be best friends? Craig sighed as he felt his chest tighten, his heart a throbbing wound lodged in his center; he knew what he had to do, even though he wished to Christ that he didn't have to. Is that what you did when you were in love? Sacrifice yourself if need be? This was all too fucking complicated, but he knew one simple truth: Kyle shouldn't have to be a casualty; that much was clear.

 _Just wait, Stan,_ he thought, his inner voice savage as he gazed at Kyle; his red hair still drenched with perspiration from dry heaving and sobbing into the toilet, his slender hands curled against his face. _We're going to be having a little talk very soon._

 **Present Day**

Kyle had no idea where he was, but he kept trudging along; bare feet passing through drifts of snow but not burning his skin with cold.

Looking around, he saw pine trees in gathered clumps falling away on either side, but beyond the snow and trees, the world was a blank canvas of white; there wasn't a sun or moon to be seen in the "sky". What opened up over top of him was nothing but empty air, devoid of clouds or stars; devoid of anything.

"Where am I?" He asked aloud, his voice echoing through nothingness and bouncing off of the trees. He glanced down at himself and saw that he was clothed in the t-shirt he'd gone to bed in; long and baggy, its collar draped loosely and exposing one shoulder.

 _Follow the trail,_ a dark voice rang in his ears; startling him. It sounded so familiar, like jagged music being played late at night; discordant but mesmerizing.

"What?" He asked, glancing around; a sudden feeling of fear filtering through him and making his mouth dry. "What trail?"

His eyes fell to the snow littering his path and he gasped to see small droplets of red marring the white; stretching away and into the distance. They hadn't been there before, had they?

Kyle's feet continued to move of their own accord it would seem, even though every instinct inside of him was telling him to stop and run, but run to where? There was nowhere to go except forward, his path clearly etched out in scarlet splashes; stark against the snow.

As he kept walking, Kyle became aware of a dark figure waiting on the horizon, its shape almost resembling a black arrow against the white dome that made up the absent sky. All at once, a deep and gripping fear took hold of him, and he tried to stop; but his feet kept dragging him forward, closer and closer.

 _That's right,_ the voice came to him again. _You're so close._

Kyle whimpered as the world was suddenly deluged in flames, the trees and snow disappearing in an inferno of red fire leaping and pulsing; obliterating everything in their path. The heat didn't affect him, though, though the fire that had been creeping through his own skin for days was starting to wake up; lighting up his blood until he almost cried out.

The dark figure was so much closer now, and when Kyle blinked, he opened his eyes and he was suddenly confronted by a familiar face; handsome but terrifying and mere inches away from his own. Surprise and terror flooded through him and he tried to step back, but his body was frozen and unable to move; the flames building around them and inside of his heart, making him want to scream.

"Little cherub," the handsome man breathed, a slender hand reaching out to grip Kyle's chin and tilt his head in various angles; clearly appraising him. "It's nice to finally see you up close."

"W-who are you?" Kyle stammered out, the man's fingers on his skin making him want to vomit, to run, to disappear. The man's hair was black as crow feathers, skin pale and flawless, smooth as a mirror, but his eyes were so remote; black and red tunnels leading to nowhere and giving nothing back.

"I'm the fire burning inside of you," the man said, and he dropped his hold; one clawed finger drifting over Kyle's chin, down his throat, past his clavicle, until it finally stopped over his heart; where his pulse was almost a small animal buzz, threatening to give out at any minute. "I'm the pain that wakes you up at night, too."

"What's happening to me?" Kyle asked, his voice faint as the pain awakened, tearing through his skin and making him wince. Against his will, he wavered on his feet and almost collapsed, his body coming to rest in the arms of the horrible dark stranger; whose hands were so cold and offered absolutely no comfort.

"You're being reborn," he murmured, cold lips resting against Kyle's forehead and kissing him lightly.

Kyle pulled away in revulsion, the stranger's touch still present in his flesh.

"What the hell are you talking about?! You don't make any sense!"

"It'll make sense soon, cherub," the man replied, still holding Kyle close as one hand drifted up his back. "You don't realize it, but if a decision isn't made soon, we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. Do you want to know why?"

Kyle shook his head as he tried to push himself away but he didn't have the strength, hateful tears collecting in his eyes and starting to fall.

"Because you'll belong to me," the dark voice whispered right against Kyle's ear; managing to be hot and cold at the same time, stealing his breath.

He could feel the clawed hand still draped and resting against his back, and then all at once a sharp and agonizing pain was lancing through his body; the result of knives being dragged through unsuspecting flesh. Gasping, he arched his back against the anguish, his eyes and mouth wide as he wordlessly convulsed as tremors passed through him.

"So beautiful," the man murmured, and he kissed Kyle's lips; one long canine digging into the flesh of his mouth, drawing rich red blood.

"I'll see you soon, Kyle."

Kyle gasped awake, sweat pouring off of him in rivers and his body burning, every heartbeat pushing fire through his veins; his skin drenched in agony that made him want to weep. He was sobbing, his hands pressing against his face and raking back through his hair, which was awash in perspiration; his entire body trembling from pain and fear. Glancing over, he saw that Craig was fast asleep, his skin glowing from the moonlight passing through the window and illuminating the room.

He looked at the clock on the bedside table, its display flashing a red 3:00 as Kyle bit down on his fist to keep the whimpers in. For whatever reason, he didn't want Craig to wake up; he needed to be alone, desperately. Climbing out of bed, he had to catch himself on the table to keep from falling over, his legs wobbly as they passed over cold floorboards. Managing to keep his feet, he started moving toward the door, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure Craig was still asleep.

Making it out into the hallway, he wandered to his room, his hand pressed against the wall to help keep him upright; pain and fatigue fighting with one another to see who could get him first. His room felt like it was a million miles away but he finally made it, passing through the door and into the bathroom; one trembling finger snapping on the light. Kyle almost hissed when the bright light accosted his eyes, but he ignored the discomfort on his way to the mirror; almost afraid to approach.

Kyle had been actively avoiding the mirror for days now, as his insides started to unravel bit by bit, his mind becoming foggy and muddled; everything within him falling apart into chaos. Looking into the mirror now, he was surprised at how normal he still looked, regardless of how out of control he felt. Leaning forward, he noticed something strange, though; a streak of crimson cutting through his green irises, small but undeniably there. Kyle could barely believe what he was seeing, and Stan's words came back to him, then; cutting through the silence with cruel clarity.

"He said they changed colors," he whispered, eyes widening as the red started to recede just a little; green overlapping and taking its rightful place. "He told me my eyes turned red, but why the fuck would I ever believe that?"

Reaching up, Kyle brought a hand to one of his eyes, but as he moved a stab of pain made him grip at the counter; his body almost folding in on itself at the sudden agony. Turning around, Kyle looked over his shoulder and almost screamed at what he saw.

Bloody red claw marks had been torn through his skin, oozing in the light of the bathroom; his t-shirt in tattered shreds where the points had ripped through the fabric and decimated it.

"This can't be real," he whispered, studying his wounds. "That was just a dream...it...it had to be, right?"

Vivid images flashed through his brain of the smoldering forest, the patches of red in the snow, the dark figure, the handsome man whose voice seemed to cut through his head; almost like it was taking up residence there, inside of him.

"W-what's going on?" Kyle asked, looking down at his hands and leaning against the counter, his back screaming at him as it continued to bleed. "Nothing makes any fucking sense anymore. And the things I've been doing with Craig, almost like I have no choice, but...but I want to, don't I?"

Turning around, he faced the mirror again, and he almost screamed to see his eyes burning red; a stranger's eyes.

 _"You're being reborn."_

"No," he said, pushing himself away. "I'm just losing my mind. None of this is actually happening."

Somewhere inside of his fire-ravaged brain, dark voices were telling him to go back to Craig's bed, to succumb to him; to submit. They were instructing him in persuasive tones, and he could almost imagine himself walking back down the hall and into Craig's room, where he'd pass through and climb onto the mattress and lay himself against white sheets, where he'd allow Craig to part his legs, and -

Kyle shook his head, trying to clear his brain, his hands clenching around Craig's ruined t-shirt that brushed whisper soft against his aching skin.

 _I need to get out of here,_ he thought, desperately. _I need to talk to Stan; he can help me put all of this crazy shit in perspective._

Pulling the t-shirt over his head he blushed to see he was naked otherwise, suddenly remembering that Craig had fucked him right before bed; his large hands flush against Kyle's skin as he drove into him, murmuring his name over and over as he finished. His memories were becoming less and less broken as time wore on, and he could recall Craig whispering how he loved him as they lay together afterward, his finger twirling one of his curls idly; coaxing Kyle to fall asleep there against his pounding heart.

 _He loves me,_ Kyle thought, as he dressed himself in his own clothes; relishing the feeling of normalcy restoring itself. _He said that he's loved me for almost ten years._

Vague fear bloomed inside of Kyle as he groped for his car keys and wallet in the darkened room, but they weren't in their usual places. Tiptoeing out to the living room, he looked all around, under the couches and in the kitchen; in all of the places his stuff may gravitate, but to no avail. Hopelessness passed over him as he looked out the window, at the frozen night where snowflakes slowly started drifting down; sugaring everything with their soft glitter. Glancing over, he saw his boots sitting next to the door and he made a snap decision; if he couldn't drive to Stan, he'd fucking walk to him.

 _It's only a couple of miles,_ he reasoned as he stuffed his feet into his boots. _I'll just fucking deal with it._

Listening, he placed his hand on the doorknob, hoping against hope that his movements hadn't roused Craig from his slumber, but all was quiet. Relief flooded through Kyle as he pushed the door open, though he couldn't say why. After all, he had no reason to be afraid of Craig, right? They were best friends, and Craig loved him.

 _Do I love him, though?_ Kyle asked himself as he started the long walk to Stan's apartment; but he pushed the question away. That was an inquiry that was too big to unpack at the moment, and he had to fortify himself against the driving cold and the late night hour; his feet passing through swiftly collecting snow, dark pine trees lining the path as he walked.

Every footstep proved to be an exercise in torment; a harsh fact that Kyle discovered very quickly into his trek. Every footfall that carried him farther from his home, from Craig, felt like knives in his soles; digging deep until he wanted to scream. Fighting through the pain, he gritted his teeth and continued, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket; snowflakes assaulting his quickly numbed face. New aches and pains were awakening now, in his hips, in his thighs, in his backside; residual discomforts carried over from hours of sex with Craig.

 _He's so aggressive,_ Kyle thought, shivering through the cold. _Almost like he's afraid every time is going to be the last time_.

Secret, hidden voices were screeching at him now, too; not as soft and musical as before. Begging, no, demanding, that he turn around and go back to Craig; that what he was doing, sneaking away, was a cardinal sin and completely unforgivable. They told him that if he changed his course now, that all could go back to normal, to the way things were meant to be, and the scary part was that a large part of Kyle's brain wanted to concede, to fold; just acquiesce and forget about who he was before. Stubbornly, he pushed the urges away and kept moving forward, every step heavier and more painful than the last; the snowstorm gathering force and swirling around him.

Thoughts of being wrapped up in Craig's arms and being kissed awake by him wove a strange tenderness through Kyle's heart as he walked. His moments with Craig seemed to be obliterating his memories with Stan, and he could remember wanting to comply and be obedient when given a command by him; a strong, forceful part of his psyche responded to Craig almost like he was born to do so. Even now, as he fought through the cold and toward Stan, his mind was dreaming of Craig and wanted to get lost in him, the darkness pouring into his brain and fairly filling him up; beating back everything that had been there before.

Bright headlights cut through the ravaging darkness and filled Kyle with slow terror, and he quickly looked over his shoulder; fully expecting Craig's car to be bearing down on him and pulling him back home. Instead, he saw that it was just a truck passing slowly through, the drive careful as he navigated his way through the ice and snow. Looking back, Kyle could see that he was finally making some real headway, the neighborhood breaking open and becoming much more familiar; Stan's apartment building rising up in the distance like a beacon on a darkened shore.

Ignoring the stabbing knives in his feet and the tempest of voices pulling him into the void, Kyle dragged himself toward the building; every breath coming as a gasp now as he silently prayed for respite.

"Why didn't you just call me, Kyle? I would've picked you up!"

"I couldn't find my phone or car keys," Kyle said, softly; wincing as Stan dragged a cotton ball saturated with peroxide across the wounds on his back. He sat shirtless in Stan's living room, leaning forward as he was being tended to, every sweep of the cotton ball eliciting burning waves; almost like salt water was being poured into his lacerations.

"These are pretty bad, Kyle," Stan murmured, continuing to work. He drew back and grabbed another cotton ball, drenching it in peroxide. "I think you may need stitches because they won't stop bleeding."

"No! No hospitals; no doctors," Kyle replied, wrapping his arms around himself. "I'm sure they're not as bad as all that; you just like to blow things out of proportion."

"Kyle, you showed up at my door at 4 am with gaping wounds on your back; this whole situation is already blown out of proportion," Stan snapped; his tone harsh but his hands so soft and soothing, even through the pain. "How the fuck did you even get these? I swear to God, if Craig -"

"Craig didn't do this, Stan," Kyle cut him off, softly. "He'd never hurt me like this."

"We'll have to part company on that, Kyle," Stan scoffed. "Fine, if he didn't do it, then who did?"

Kyle was silent for a moment as he tried to formulate a response, his mind passing over his dream; still unable to make sense of it.

"I-I don't really know," he finally said. "All I know is that I went to bed and I was fine, and when I woke up, they were there."

"That makes no sense," Stan said, throwing the used cotton balls in the trash and putting the cap back on the peroxide.

"I realize that," Kyle said, sitting up straight and trying to ease the kinks out of his spine. "I mean, I had this nightmare right before waking up, and in it this man assaulted me." His voice lowered as he continued to explain, feeling ashamed and afraid of what he was saying; no one in their right mind would believe him. "He scratched me in the exact same place, and then I woke up."

"What is this, Nightmare on Elm Street?" Stan asked, coming and sitting beside him; his dark hair mussed from sleep. "What'd he look like?"

Kyle shrugged, feeling sheepish but wonderfully relieved that Stan wasn't just brushing away what he was saying as the ravings of a madman.

"He looked like the black haired guy we've seen a couple of times at the bar. You know the one I'm talking about," he said, propping his face in one hand. "In fact, he looked exactly like him. It was bizarre."

"Not the dude that Craig is always talking to?" Stan asked, blue eyes widening; and suddenly Kyle noticed the shadows beneath them. "The one with the weird eyes? Always wearing really nice clothes? That guy?"

"Yep," Kyle said. "He said something about belonging to him if a decision isn't made soon." He shrugged, a little shiver passing through him at the memory. "None of it made any sense."

Stan studied him for a moment, a look of confusion laced with anger registering in his features; his hand covering his mouth and worrying his bottom lip.

"I refuse to believe this is just a coincidence," he said. "It's just too convenient, you know? I mean, the scratches on your back, the dream, Craig talking to that guy constantly." He glanced at Kyle, who looked a little surprised. "I've been to the bar on my own, Kyle; and that dude is there all the time, always sitting at the bar and involved in conversation with Craig."

"There's another thing," Kyle began, his heartbeat thumping painfully in his burning chest; every nerve on fire even in the chilled room. He fought the voices in his head as he tried to find the right words.

"What?" Stan asked, putting his arm around Kyle's naked shoulders and hugging him close. "Tell me."

"I looked in the mirror tonight, and," Kyle started, but broke off, looking down at his clasped hands. "You were telling the truth, Stan; my eyes, there was red in them. I saw it, plain as day. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"Well, why the fuck would you, you know?" Stan replied, shrugging. "I mean, I saw the change myself and I almost didn't believe it. I just want to know what the fuck is going on."

"Me, too," Kyle said, faintly; knowing that he was about to decimate Stan's heart with his next confession. He groped for the words as Stan held him close, the aroma of mint and freshly-laundered clothes affording him fleeting comfort.

"Stan, I -" he started to say, when a pounding erupted at the front door that made them both jump almost a foot in the air.

"What the actual fuck?" Stan muttered, standing and striding over to the door while Kyle huddled on the couch, shaking though he couldn't say why; instant fear rising up and consuming him.

Stan ripped the door open and all of a sudden Craig was there, letting himself into the room without even being invited; his eyes wild and hair disheveled as he instantly went to Kyle's side. He gathered a trembling Kyle into his arms and held him close for a moment, before pulling away and looking deep into his eyes.

"I woke up and you were gone," he said, voice frantic. "Are you okay? Did you walk here? It's too cold to be outside for that long!"

Before Kyle could answer, Stan was cutting in; tone harsh and accusatory.

"How did you know he walked here, Tucker?" He asked. "How would you know that, unless you were the one that took his phone and keys? Huh?"

"Cut the fucking melodrama, Stan," Craig snapped, glancing at him with barely-concealed contempt. "Kyle's phone and keys are on top of the piano at home where he left them."

"They are?" Kyle asked, suddenly unsure whether or not he had checked there, but he had to of, right? He rubbed a hand against his head, feeling the fog rolling in as the voices became louder; red bleeding into the edges of his thoughts now that Craig was so close.

"Come on, Kyle; I'm taking you home," Craig murmured, standing and holding out a hand to him. "You're never going to get better if you pull stunts like this."

"He isn't going anywhere," Stan seethed, coming over and stepping between Kyle and Craig. "Did you look at his back, Craig? He practically needs stitches!"

Sneering, Craig glanced over Stan's shoulder, his eyes landing on Kyle; grey as the clouds gathering in the sky.

"Let me see, Kyle," he commanded, voice soft; gentle but still insistent.

Immediately, Kyle stood and turned, exposing his injured back so Craig could study it. In that moment, he didn't think he could've refused even if he'd tried.

"Jesus Christ," Craig breathed, darting around Stan and coming over to Kyle; one finger trailing beside the angry cuts breaking through his skin. "How the fuck did this happen?!"

"I'm not sure," Kyle whispered, not wanting to recount the dream again; it was too fresh and too distressing. The whole night was quickly being plunged into nonsensical madness, and he seemed to be at its center; carried along in a current that he had no control over.

"He had a nightmare and he woke up with his back ripped open," Stan said, hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. "Your little friend from the bar was in it, by the way."

"My little friend?" Craig asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, asshole," Stan retorted. "That dark haired guy that's constantly visiting you. The one you're always having really involved conversations with. Who the fuck is he, anyway?"

"I'm pretty sure that's none of your fucking business," Craig replied, looking around until his eyes fell on Kyle's shirt and coat draped across a chair. Plucking them up, he brought them to Kyle. "Come on, Kyle; get dressed so we can go."

"The only one who's leaving is you, Craig," Stan said, coming over and ripping the clothes out of Craig's hand. "Kyle wants to stay here; why else would he fucking show up in the middle of the night in the snow?"

"Is that so?" Craig asked, glancing over at Kyle; who stood shivering from heat and pain, his head almost lost in the voices and madness now. "Kyle, did you want to stay here?"

Kyle looked rapidly between Craig and Stan, a sudden feeling of being torn in half rising up in his chest; the sensation making him whimper as his heart and blood raced hotly. He was almost certain that molten lava had replaced the blood in his veins, and the voices were chanting in his mind: give in, give in, give in; on and on and on into eternity.

"Jesus fucking Christ, his eyes!" Stan exclaimed, coming over and grabbing Kyle by the shoulders; his touch making him cry out in anguish.

Pulling away, Kyle panted and gripped at his head, his body in a turmoil as he fought with himself; his mind and spirit plunged into chaos. Vaguely, he could hear Stan screaming at Craig.

"What the fuck did you do to him? His eyes are red, for God's sake!"

Turning around, Kyle saw Stan back Craig toward the kitchen, pushing at his chest as he continued to yell accusations; Craig's face impassive as he allowed himself to be directed. Through the swirling fog, he watched as Craig's hand crept toward the knife block on the counter, his fingers lingering on the largest one and slowly drawing out the blade as the lamplight sparkled on its surface.

"Oh, my fucking god, what the fuck is going on out here?!" Kenny yelled, coming into the room; shirtless and yawning with his dirty blond hair mussed. "Do you fuckers have any idea what time it is? I have to be up hella early for work!"

He paused when he saw the scene before him: Stan jabbing his finger at Craig's chest while Kyle stood by, shirtless and practically becoming incoherent; though he had the presence of mind to notice that Craig had swiftly dropped the knife. Kenny's eyes widened in utter shock while he looked around.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked, his eyes resting on Craig and Stan. "Are you guys fighting?"

"Yes, we are," Stan seethed, taking a step back. "But Craig was just leaving, so it doesn't matter."

"Yes, I was, and Kyle's coming with me," Craig said. "Get dressed, Kyle."

Instantly, Kyle picked up his shirt, turning a little as he slid it on; eliciting a shout from Kenny.

"Dude, what the fuck happened to your back? You look like you were mauled by something!"

"Back off, McCormick," Craig snapped. "Just leave him alone so we can get the hell out of here."

"Kyle isn't fucking going with you!" Stan shouted. He came over and put his hands on Kyle's shoulders, his blue eyes pleading. "You know you can stay here, right? I want you to, Kyle; please? Just don't go with him, I'm begging you."

Kyle looked at Craig, who was watching with his fathomless eyes.

"Kyle," he said. "Get dressed."

Wordlessly, Kyle pulled on his white coat, the one that Stan said made him look like a little polar bear.

"Kyle, what's wrong with you?" Stan asked, practically sounding like he was on the verge of tears. "Why are you listening to him? Can't you think for yourself?"

"S-Stan, please," he said, almost soundlessly. "Hel-"

"Kyle," Craig broke in, sharply. "Let's go."

Kyle pushed past Stan and walked to Craig's side, his eyes downcast as he struggled to stay upright; every part of his body feeling like it was disintegrating into ash as his mind fought tirelessly. Craig stroked a gentle hand through his curls before letting it drift to Kyle's waist, where he pulled him close to his side; his fingers pressing deep into his skin.

"Get your fucking hands off of him!" Stan yelled, coming closer while drawing his fist back; face contorted with fury.

"You've had him for long enough," Craig said, simply. "Now it's my turn."

"What the fuck are you talking about, you psycho?"

"You never deserved him, anyway," Craig sneered. "But I do; I always have."

"He doesn't even fucking want to be with you," Stan seethed. "I don't know why he's acting like this, but you're completely wrong, Tucker; wrong and fucking crazy."

"Oh?" Craig asked, and he tilted Kyle's face toward him, his lips coming to rest on Kyle's as he whimpered; not daring to pull away. Pulling away, he smiled at Stan wickedly; grey eyes amused. "Do you need further convincing?"

Stan was silent for several moments, his entire body radiating shock and disbelief.

"You dirty son of a bitch," he whispered. "You're completely out of your mind."

"I'd stop right there unless you want me to tell you just how far things have gone," Craig said, winding another of Kyle's curls around his finger as he sagged against his side; the look on Stan's face devastating him beyond measure. "Come on, Kyle. Let's go."

Feeling absent from his own body, Kyle allowed Craig to lead him through the door and out of the apartment; cringing and crying inside from the destruction left in their wake. A small, swiftly disappearing part of himself still begged for Stan to save him, to see the truth, but try as he might, he couldn't articulate the words and they died one by one; lost in a tide that kept pushing him farther away.

******  
"You'll be lucky if you don't come down with the flu," Craig chastised Kyle as he gently slid the sponge down his back, the clear water becoming pink as it washed over his wounds. "I can't believe you walked all the way to Stan's in the snow. Are you crazy?"

"I feel like I am," Kyle replied, tonelessly, but he stayed still; allowing Craig to bathe him, his body surrounded by fragrant bubbles. "I don't even know what to think anymore, Craig; I feel like I'm almost fading away."

"You're just tired," Craig said, gently; reaching down and kissing one soft, milky shoulder. "We'll go to bed after we get you cleaned up, okay?"

"Sure," Kyle said, dipping his head low so he could rest his cheek against his knees.

Craig gazed down at his little redhead, Kyle's limbs pale under the bathroom lighting; the deep lacerations on his back only highlighting his extreme fragility. He physically hurt to see the torn flesh, and the implications behind their existence was too horrifying to contemplate; but he already had plans to hash it out with Damien, that sneaky demonic son of a bitch.

As he dried Kyle off, his hands lingering on every inch of skin he could, Craig looked at him, suddenly feeling a deep and wordless sorrow.

"Why did you leave?" He asked, voice drenched in unconcealed pain. "Why did you go to him?"

"I needed to see him, Craig," Kyle said, moaning a little when Craig's lips grazed over one exposed thigh; his fingers straying along the small of his back. "I missed him; in fact, I still do."

"You need to forget about him," Craig replied, helping him out of the bath and leading him into the bedroom. "I've told you that."

"I know," Kyle said, partially scarlet eyes downcast as Craig's fingers inspected his wounds; drenched hair heavy against his neck. "I don't know if I can do it, though."

"You can and you will," Craig said, simply. "Pretty soon you won't have to worry about him at all."

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked, his face flooding with fear.

"You'll know soon enough," Craig replied, kissing his cheek. "But enough about that. Your scratches look okay; Marsh can at least do basic first aid, it would seem," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," Kyle replied, pulling a shirt over his head.

"Are you sleepy?"

Kyle shook his head, his arms wrapped around himself and his thoughts seemingly a million miles away. Craig cocked an eyebrow, vague concern flooding through him before leaning down and kissing Kyle deeply, his tongue parting his lips and delving inside. When he drew away, he saw that Kyle's eyes were burning brightly, all traces of green forest decimated as the fires raged.

"Will you play the piano for me? Please?" He asked, fretful voice smoothing into calm tones; eyes soft and pleading. Reaching up, Kyle wound his arms around Craig's neck and pulled him close, kissing his mouth softly.

"Of course I will," Craig murmured. "What song?"

"Memory."

Moments later, Kyle was laying on the couch and covered in blankets, his hands nestled under his cheek as he watched Craig prepare to play. Craig glanced at him and couldn't help but smile at this embarrassment of riches; his Kyle waiting to hear him play the piano in the middle of the night while a snowstorm covered the world outside. Later, he would be able to gather him in his arms as they fell asleep, and Kyle would be waiting for him when they woke in the morning; as the sun rose and turned the freshly fallen snow to gold.

"I'm afraid to fall asleep," Kyle said, suddenly. "What if something happens?"

"Don't worry," Craig replied, the beginning strains of the song wafting into the air and filling it up; fingers strong and sure as they swept over the keys. "I'll be here to protect you; I promise." He looked back at Kyle even as he continued to play, soft happiness welling inside of his heart.

"I'll always be here for you."


	13. Chapter 13

TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE! SEXUAL ASSAULT! RAPE! DEMONIC ELEMENTS! GORE! READER BEWARE! I really, really enjoyed writing this chapter, you guys, even though it felt like it took like 40 years, lmao. The chapter's are hella time-consuming to write bc of the past/present day stuff bc I like to torture myself. Anyway, this was so fun, and i really hope everyone enjoys. :D PS: the texarkana moonlight murders really happened...the movie 'The Town That Dreaded Sundown' is based on the case, and it's pretty fun. Cheesy, but fun. Also, Unsolved Mysteries is fucking terrifying and Robert Stack is a fox. Oh, and I love young Craig...too bad he became a psycho *sad face*. lol. And Rihanna is a fucking goddess, so. :D

 **If I smile and don't believe**  
 **Soon I know I'll wake from this dream**  
 **Don't try to fix me I'm not broken**  
 **Hello I'm the lie living for you so you can hide**  
 **Don't cry**

 **-Hello, Evanescence**

* * *

 **9.10 Years Ago**

Craig was pretty sure he was going to lose his fucking mind, and it was going to happen in the next thirty seconds. Clutching at his head, he tried to cover his ears until he couldn't take it anymore and he was furiously stomping over to Kyle, who was laid across his bed reading.

"Seriously, dude, if I have to listen to this song one more time I'm going to blow my fucking head off, I swear to God," Craig said, one eye twitching. "Can we please, please, please listen to something else; I'm fucking begging right now."

Kyle glanced up from his book and frowned, his green eyes snapping a little in the August sunshine.

"But I like this song," he said, sitting up. "It makes me feel better."

"Well, it's driving me crazy," Craig snapped, walking over to Kyle's stereo. He ripped his iPod off the docking port which immediately plunged the room into silence. Turning around, he brandished the iPod; pointing it right at Kyle, who was already frowning.

"How many fucking times can you listen to California King Bed before you're sick of it?" Craig asked. "I mean, you got on my ass for listening to Taylor Swift and here you are listening to the same sappy song for hours. Give it a rest!"

Kyle stood and stomped over to Craig, his face flushed and angry. In one swift motion, he reached out and snatched the iPod from Craig's hand.

"Rihanna is fucking amazing, you ass," he seethed, plunking the iPod back on the player and scrolling through the menu. After a moment, music started blaring into the room and Kyle sang along, tuneless and defiant:

 ** _In this California king bed_**  
 ** _We're ten thousand miles apart_**  
 ** _I'll be California wishing on these stars_**

"Oh, my fucking god, I'm dying! I'm literally dying right now!" Craig yelled, covering his ears and pacing. "Can't you at least listen to a different song by her?!"

"No, I can't," Kyle replied, his chin tilted in the air. "This song speaks to my teenage angst, so there."

"Jesus Christ, will you just fucking confront Stan already?" Craig asked, regretting the question as soon as it left his mouth, especially when Kyle looked immediately crestfallen and dejected.

"I can't do that," Kyle replied, softly; eyes downcast. "Not after he's been gone all summer, and we haven't even spoken really since my birthday. I have no fucking clue how I would even approach him at this point."

Craig sighed and pressed his face into his hands, feeling guilty and frustrated. He'd tried to talk to Stan about Kyle right after Wendy's fourth of July party, but Stan had made it almost impossible to get a hold of him, and then he'd left to visit relatives for the remainder of the summer; a fact which infuriated Craig to no end. All of his suspicions were based solely on conjecture, but he knew in his heart that Stan was going out of his way to avoid Kyle; there could be no other explanation for his behavior.

Ever since the party, Craig had had to stand by and watch Kyle slowly fall apart, his demeanor and mood cracking into pieces steadily day by day; his enthusiasm and spark becoming diluted until he was rendered listless and dull. Instead of enjoying their summer freedom, Craig watched Kyle lapse into a depression he couldn't make him shake, and they spent hours in silence while Kyle read or looked out the window while listening to the same fucking love songs over and over until Craig was ready to throw himself out the window; both from frustration and outright concern.

 _Things were a lot simpler before I fucking figured out I love him,_ Craig thought, staring at Kyle as he fiddled with his shirt; his entire face awash in misery.

"When is he coming home, anyway?" Craig finally asked, turning down the music. "School starts in two weeks, dude. We need to get this bullshit sorted out before then, or the entire year is going to be miserable."

Kyle shrugged and turned to his book. Picking it up, he folded the corner of a page and closed it slowly, his eyes still focused downward.

"How would I know?" He asked. "He won't respond to any of my texts or emails, so I'm totally in the dark."

"I just don't know how he can treat you this way," Craig said, fury working through him until his heart pounded. "He told you he didn't care about you being gay, so why the fuck doesn't he act like it? He's such a weak fucking asshole."

"Hey! Don't talk about him like that!" Kyle yelled, sudden anger making him look up; green eyes snapping like twin fires. "He's still my best friend, you know!"

"Some best friend," Craig replied, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I thought I was your best friend," he added, trying to be playful but sounding a little pathetic instead.

"God, you guys are both my best friends, okay? It's just...it's just different with him, Craig. You know that."

 _Yeah, I fucking know it; you don't need to rub it in,_ Craig thought, Kyle's words driving a dagger through his increasingly shredded heart. Shaking it off, he made a quick decision; enough was too much as far as he was concerned.

"I have to go somewhere," he said, heading for the door. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Wait, where are you going?" Kyle asked, standing up and holding out his hand.

"Don't worry about it," Craig replied, opening the door and lingering for a moment, his eyes resting on Kyle Fish, who was swimming round and round on Kyle's desk; vermilion fins glowing like embers. "That's starting to look a little grimy," he said, pointing to the bowl. "Why don't you clean it out? That'll give you something to do, at least."

"You are so bossy, I swear," Kyle replied, but he went to the bowl anyway and peered into it. Wrinkling his nose, he looked up. "Yeah, you're right. Poor Chester."

Craig shook his head once again at the stupid name Ike had given the pretty fish, but it couldn't be helped. Waving his hand, he left Kyle's room; his redheaded crush still looking perplexed and sad. Before he made it to the stairs, he heard the music cranked up again; the lyrics to California King Bed pouring into the air and chasing him out of the house.

"Craig, what are you doing here?" Wendy asked, her dark blue eyes wide with surprise.

Craig jammed his hands in his pockets and kicked at the ground a little, feeling stupid and annoyed. He was barely acquaintances with Wendy Testaburger but desperate times called for desperate measures, and if he was ever going to make any headway with Stan he was going to have to start somewhere.

"Do you know when Stan is coming back?" He asked, cutting straight to the point. "I really have to talk to him."

She blinked her eyes a few times, and for the first time Craig noticed how pretty she was, her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail with her bangs swept behind her ear. She looked summery and fresh, her dusky skin tanned to an olive tone; dressed in a white sundress and lace-up sandals on her feet and winding around her calves. No wonder Marsh was macking on her again, that fucking asshole.

"Stan? He's already back," she said. "He came back a couple days ago."

"Are you serious?" Craig asked, teeth gritted while his hands clenched into fists. "What, is he just hiding out in his house?"

She shrugged, her delicate shoulders catching beams of sunlight and almost shimmering; little snatches of body glitter catching the light.

"I wouldn't know," she replied, one eyebrow cocked. "I haven't spoken to him much since he came back."

"Oh? I find that hard to believe, considering," Craig said, his voice wry.

Wendy crossed her arms, her expression clouding over.

"Considering what?"

"Considering you two got back together at the beginning of the summer," Craig said, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Who the hell said we got back together?" Wendy asked, looking scandalized. "We hung out at my party and that was pretty much the extent of things. There's no way we'd ever get back together at this point."

"Why not?" Craig asked, eyes widening at this bit of information. That's what he got for listening to gossip from his dumb ass friends.

"You'll have to ask him that," Wendy replied, smiling now, but it was steeped in bitterness. "Was there anything else I could do for you, Craig?"

"No," he said, but he grinned. "Thanks, though. I really appreciate you actually talking to me."

"Since when do you say thank you for anything?" She asked, looking highly suspicious now.

"Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay? Later," he replied, turning away. He waved over his shoulder as he walked down the front walkway. "See you in school."

"Right," she called, her voice filled with confusion and curiosity, but Craig didn't bother to look back. He had unfinished business to take care of.

Craig stood in front of Stan's front door but couldn't bring himself to knock, the late afternoon sunlight falling all around him and warming up the top of his head. The smells of summer filtered through the air around him, making him feel faint nostalgia; almost like he could watch his childhood fading away, though he knew he was being ridiculous. Sniffing the air, he caught the scents of freshly cut grass, gasoline, charcoal, and somewhere far away and faint, hints of jasmine. Taking a deep breath, he finally lifted his hand and was just about to bring it down when the door suddenly opened, and Randy Marsh was standing there; wide-eyed while holding a bottle of beer.

"Hey, aren't you the Tucker kid?" He asked, and before Craig could stop him he was calling up the stairs. "Hey, Stan, one of your little friends is at the door! Get your butt down here!"

From somewhere inside the house, Craig could hear Mrs. Marsh yelling back; her voice filled with irriation.

"Randy? Will you keep it down? The whole neighborhood doesn't need to hear our business!"

"Aw, Sharon, lay off!" Randy rolled his eyes at Craig, a gesture that seemed to say "women? am I right?"

Craig just kept his face impassive, once again surprised at just how weird the Marsh family was. Finally, he could hear footsteps coming down the stairs and then Stan was there, peering out the door and looking completely taken aback.

"Craig, what are you doing here?" He asked, while Randy continued to stand there, nursing his beer and already looking a little inebriated.

"I needed to talk to you," Craig said, narrowing his eyes even though he had every intention of playing nice, but it was so fucking hard given the circumstances. "Are you free?"

"Yeah, sure," Stan said, walking outside while his father leaned against the door frame; taking a deep drink of beer.

"Don't forget you still need to cut the grass before it gets dark, Stanley," he called before burping loudly.

"Right, dad. Okay," Stan replied, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Can you please go back inside now?"

"You're starting to become just as grouchy as your mother," Randy slurred, taking another drink.

"What was that, Randy?!" Mrs. Marsh called, her voice sounding closer now.

"Nothing, Sharon!" Randy yelled back, slamming the door and leaving Craig and Stan alone.

"Dude, your parents are fucking weird," Craig said, looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, like I didn't already know that," Stan replied, annoyed. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Wendy told me you were back," Craig said, trying to keep his anger in check. "I have something I need to talk to you about."

"Why were you talking to Wendy?" Stan asked, beginning to look suspicious.

"What, you think you have a monopoly on her or something?" Craig snapped, already failing miserably at keeping his cool.

"No, but I think it's fair to be weirded out that you were talking to her about me," Stan said, starting to walk now; seeming a little antsy.

In his mind, Craig had to concede that Stan had a point, and he was once again reminded that he was outside of his territory here, having never really been friends with Stan. They were friendly for the most part, but they'd never been close in any sense of the word, and now Craig was finding it even harder to like him after seeing how he'd treated Kyle the past few months. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he fell into step beside Stan as they walked toward the street and turned onto the sidewalk.

"Fine, I'll just come right out and say it," Craig said, taking a deep breath and feeling his heartbeat ramp up; his mouth feeling a little dry. "Why the fuck are you treating Kyle like shit, dude?"

 _Well, that sounded a lot more diplomatic in my head,_ Craig thought.

Stan stopped abruptly and turned to him, his eyes suddenly dangerous; turning from light blue to dark cobalt in an instant.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Craig stopped too, his hands shaking in his pockets as they clenched; fingernails digging into his palms.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Marsh," he replied, voice low and controlled. "You've been ignoring him for the whole summer, and I fucking want to know why."

"It's none of your business," Stan spat. "What, did he send you here to talk to me?"

"No, he didn't as a matter of fact," Craig sneered, looking him up and down like he was utter filth. "I came here on my own because I couldn't stand seeing him so sad. He's spent the entire summer practically locked in his room because you're ignoring him!"

"Yeah, but I'm sure you were there the whole time to comfort him," Stan replied, rolling his eyes and turning away. "Weren't you?"

"What the fuck does -" Craig cut off then, a disturbing realization dawning on him.

Stan was **jealous**. Of **him**. Craig could hardly believe this sudden turn of events, and his face must have registered his shock, because Stan was staring daggers at him, mouth set and firm.

"That's what I thought," he said, his voice softening and a little sad. "I guess Kyle has a new best friend now, huh?"

"Stan, that couldn't be any further from the -"

"Look, I know he told you that he was gay before telling me," Stan cut him off, looking down at the ground, their shadows stretching away as the sun sank lower in the sky. "He went to you before he went to me, and about something that gigantic..." he shook his head, sunlight shimmering in the dark strands of his hair.

Softening a little, Craig sighed and looked up at the sky; endless and blue and just so beautiful. Feeling like he was taking a bite out of his own aching heart, he willed himself to speak, for Kyle's sake if not his own.

"He was afraid to tell you, Stan," Craig said. "He thought you might hate him if you knew the truth, that's the only reason he told me first."

"Really?" Stan asked, glancing at him, his face full of painful hope; his blue eyes practically giving his whole heart away. "How could he think I'd ever hate him?"

"That's what I thought," Craig replied, some of the rage resurfacing momentarily, and he could vividly see Kyle's stricken face in his mind; trying desperately to keep it together as the weeks wore on and Stan continued to shut him out. "But that's how important your opinion is to him; he was terrified of losing you." He laughed a little, the sound brittle and sharp. "You kind of proved him right, you know?"

"I-I didn't know," Stan said, faintly. "I just thought you were, I don't know, taking my place." He gazed at Craig for a moment, clear blue eyes studying him; a thoughtful look on his face. "He was so happy when you finally started opening up to him. Did you know that? I've never seen him like that, just weirdly excited and..." he shook his head. "I don't even know how to put it into words, but you're really, really important to him."

"That bothers you, doesn't it?" Craig asked, his heart pounding at Stan's words, and a small, painful part of himself wished fervently that Kyle's interest in him went deeper than friendship. Could it ever be possible?

"I guess it does," Stan replied, shrugging a little. "I've never had to share him before, you know? Not really, anyway. And then all of a sudden you were in the picture, and he was constantly talking about you; about how well you play the piano, about -"

"He told you about that?" Craig asked, blushing. Never in a million years did he think Kyle was talking about him at all, and this knowledge filled him with a tiny glow, and he could feel it warming him up and giving him horrible, agonizing hope.

"Yeah, dude," Stan grinned. "He said you're amazing when you play, and you should've seen his face...he just looked so fucking happy, and I didn't know how to deal with it." He kicked at a rock, his face flushing bright red. "I still don't know how to deal with it, and now I know he's gay, and...god, everything's changed so quickly, and I feel like I'm stuck in the past."

"You don't have to be," Craig replied, cracks snaking their way across his heart more and more; fissures appearing and widening. "Just go and talk to him, okay? Smooth things out." Taking a deep breath, Craig willed himself to stay strong and say what needed to be said, because he couldn't stand seeing Kyle sad, even if it meant perpetuating his own misery.

"He misses you, Stan; more than you could ever possibly realize. I know that for a fact." He shook his head, laughing a little. "I could never take your place, and I think you know that. Don't you?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure," Stan replied, finally looking up and squinting as the dying sun caught his eyes. "But if you really think I should..."

"I do," Craig said, softly; the fissures splitting open and bleeding now. "I promise, he wants to see you more than anything." He bit his lip, and he had to pluck up all of his reserves of courage when he spoke next, even though it was just a word:

"Please?"

"God, what were we thinking watching all of those episodes of Unsolved Mysteries before deciding to fucking sleep outside," Kyle asked, clutching at his flashlight and looking around, his entire demeanor giving away the fact that he was clearly terrified.

Craig snickered and took a drag from his blunt, expertly holding the smoke just long enough to enjoy the burn and then slowly letting it out. Ever since he'd smoked at the fourth of July party he'd been a lot more casual about getting stoned in front of Kyle, even though the redhead was still abysmal at it; coughing and sputtering after almost every pull he took. Craig didn't mind, though, if anything it just made Kyle more endearing to him.

"Seriously, dude?" He asked, smoke leaking out of his mouth. "We're just sleeping in a tent in your backyard, what could possibly happen?"

"I'm pretty sure every stupid teenager in a slasher movie says something very similar to that before getting hacked apart," Kyle shuddered, looking around at the night sky open above them through the netting in the top of the tent; stars draped across it in shimmering waves. "And you know Unsolved Mysteries scares the shit out of me; there's just something about Robert Stack and his creepy voice."

Now Craig really did laugh, feeling hazy and faded from the weed and being so near to Kyle, their legs touching on occasion in the small tent.

"Dude, I've never understood that," he said, taking another hit. "What is it with you and Robert Stack?"

"He just wanders around aimlessly in abandoned churches and shit surrounded in fog, talking about murderers and ghosts," Kyle replied, voice going up an octave and cracking. "He leaves himself completely open to the mysteries!"

"Oh, my god, you are so fucking ridiculous!" Craig said, beginning to giggle. "You seriously crack me up with this shit!"

"You are such an asshole, dude," Kyle huffed, but he smiled, too, before punching him playfully in the shoulder. "Hey," he said, suddenly; switching gears. "I meant to ask you sooner, but where did you end up going yesterday? You never told me."

Craig shrugged and stubbed out the blunt, refusing to meet Kyle's eyes. He wasn't about to tell him about the true nature of his errand, having gone so far as to swear Stan to secrecy, too. Craig was pretty sure Kyle would just become upset, and besides, it was water under the bridge at this point, right? Stan had all but promised to talk to Kyle before school started, though he couldn't really tell Craig when; but the promise was enough for now.

"I had to go buy more weed from Kenny," Craig lied, holding up the spent blunt. "So we'd have enough for tonight."

"Really?" Kyle asked, one eyebrow raised. "Why did you leave so abruptly, though?"

"Hey, a man has needs, Kyle," Craig replied. "Let's just leave it at that, okay?"

"Hmm," Kyle grunted, still looking at Craig suspiciously. After a moment, he shrugged it off and started swirling his flashlight against the side of the tent, the yellow light blurring into figure eights and random shapes.

"What do you want to do now?" He asked.

Craig grinned and decided to fuck with him, just because he could.

"We could tell scary stories," he suggested, trying to sound nonchalant.

"What kind of scary stories?" Kyle asked, eyes narrowing.

"I could tell you about the hook on the car door," Craig replied, innocently.

Kyle laughed a little, looking relieved.

"Everyone knows that story, dude. It isn't even scary."

Craig had anticipated this, so he had a response ready.

"Oh? Okay, well, how about I tell you a true story, then?"

"A true story?" Kyle asked, glancing at him and looking a little unsure. "Okay, I guess."

"Have you ever heard of the Texarkana Moonlight Murders?" Craig asked, slyly.

"No, what happened?"

"Well, the story goes that over a period of months, unsuspecting couples were gunned down in their cars while they were parked out in the middle of nowhere," Craig explained, sitting up and enjoying himself thoroughly; he loved true crime stories but he loved scaring the shit out of Kyle even more. "Sounds kind of similar to the hook on the door handle story, huh?"

"Uh, I guess," Kyle replied, eyes widening a little.

"The killer didn't stop there, though," Craig continued, his voice becoming a little hushed. "One man was killed in his own living room, but the murderer didn't even enter the house."

"He didn't?"

"No, he shot the guy through the head," Craig said. "Right through the front window. Just imagine it, Kyle. You're just sitting there, minding your own business, and then BAM!" He suddenly shouted, making Kyle jump a foot in the air. "Then you're just fucking dead, and you never even fucking saw it coming."

"T-that's awful," Kyle stuttered, setting down the flashlight so he could bring his blanket closer to his chest; clutching it in his hands.

"Do you want to know the worst part, though?" Craig asked, leaning forward a little.

Kyle just nodded slightly.

"They never caught him," Craig whispered. "And this didn't happen very long ago," he lied, knowing very well that this case went back decades. "So he could still be out there somewhere, wandering back roads with his shot gun, ready to -"

Suddenly, there was a rustling outside of the tent and now both of them jumped, Kyle clinging to Craig and yelping.

"Jesus fucking Christ, it's the fucking killer; we're going to die!" He shrieked, clutching at Craig with desperate, grasping hands.

"Calm down!" Craig barked, his heart thudding even as he enjoyed Kyle grabbing onto him; even though he was pretty sure he was going to have bruises from where Kyle's fingers sunk into his skin. Shaking his head, he tried to clear it a little; the sudden panic and weed leaving him feeling discombobulated.

"Okay, who the fuck is out there?" He yelled, picking up the heavy flashlight so he could bash someone's skull in if need be.

All of a sudden, Stan was sticking his head in the tent flap and regarding them with an amused expression.

"Seriously, Kyle? You're letting Tucker scare you with stupid scary stories?" He asked, smiling a little.

"S-Stan?" Kyle asked, freezing in place as he held onto Craig tightly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Stan shrugged sheepishly, his glance momentarily settling on Craig who just looked away quickly.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said. "If you're cool with that, I mean."

Kyle looked at Craig who managed to tear his gaze away from the side of the tent. His green eyes were full of a different sort of fear, and wordlessly Craig just nodded a little, giving him the little push he clearly needed; his chest aching.

"Sure, that's fine, I guess," Kyle replied, finally letting go of Craig and leaving him feeling lost. "Craig, will you be okay while we step outside?"

Craig just rolled his eyes, having never become accustomed to Kyle's relentless thoughtfulness.

"I think I'll manage, Kyle," he said. "Just go already."

Before they left, Craig managed to catch Stan's eye and he gave him a grim look, one that clearly stated he better tread carefully or he would kick the everloving shit out of him. Stan just rolled his eyes and held the tent flap open for Kyle as he crawled out; the fabric rustling softly as he let it go. Craig sat in silence for a moment, digging out another joint from his pocket and lighting up; trying to focus on anything other than the pair outside.

After awhile, though, he couldn't bear the suspense, and it was with a swiftly pounding heart that Craig peeked out of the tent, trying to remain inconspicuous even as the anticipation was killing him; his whole body shaking.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness as he squinted into the night, but when they did his heart felt properly obliterated, the pain tearing through him and almost making him wince. Off in the distance, under a stand of trees, Craig saw Kyle hugging Stan, and what was worse, Stan's arms were wound around Kyle, too; their bodies pressed tightly together as the moonlight draped itself around them.

A stabbing agony shot through his heart as he watched them, even though the hug they were sharing could have easily been one of friendship instead of romantic in nature, but Craig had too much knowledge about the situation to delude himself like that. Not since Tweek's passing had he felt such a feeling of devastation, even though this was clearly different, but still it left his heart a smoking crater; absolutely useless as it continued to pump away in his chest.

 _He doesn't deserve him,_ he thought bitterly, as his fingers clenched around the joint languishing in his hand. Feeling nauseous, Craig saw Stan run a hand through Kyle's hair, and he had to look away before he shattered completely.

Looking down at his shaking hands, Craig could only lament his decision to step in and talk to Stan, even though he had a feeling they would've made up on their own anyway. But, still, what if they hadn't? Had he completely destroyed his own chances? And for what? So Kyle could potentially end up with someone who could so callously disregard his feelings?

 _What the fuck did I do?_ Craig asked himself, and before he knew it, he could feel a tear leaking from his eye and falling down his cheek; the action making him hate himself all the more, for being weak, for being foolish, for being an idiot.

 _What the fuck was I thinking?_

*******  
 **Present Day**

The only sound in the room was the lonely ticking of a clock as it counted down the seconds, the snow continuing to fall steadily outside; the hour getting closer and closer to dawn. All Stan could do was sit on the couch and hold his head in his hands, trying to make sense of what had just occurred; his mood alternating between fury and confused misery. It almost felt like the entire world was becoming insane, and he had no idea what to do.

Instead of going back to bed, Kenny sat next to him, his feet propped on the coffee table as he smoked a blunt; the smoke filtering into the air and turning it faintly blue. Stan was so upset that he didn't even think to yell at him for smoking inside, opting instead to become lost in his churning thoughts; his mind turning into utter chaos.

"So, are you going to tell me what the fuck just happened?" Kenny asked, exhaling a little. "Because that was some crazy ass shit, man."

"You think?" Stan snapped, finally looking up and studying Kenny; shirtless and covered in tattoos, the very definition of a bad boy with a heart of gold. "Christ, dude, I have no fucking idea what just happened, okay?"

"Seems to me Craig's fucking around with Kyle," Kenny replied, offering him the blunt which Stan angrily waved away. "And what was up with those scratches on his back? Tucker is into some freaky shit, dude."

"You better shut the fuck up with all of that," Stan seethed, managing to hold himself back from throwing a punch right at Kenny's face. "Craig and Kyle are not fucking around, and those scratches were not from freaky sex."

"Then what the hell were they from? That shit looked like a fucking bear attack, Stan; and what the fuck was Tucker doing kissing Kyle if they aren't screwing around together?"

"I don't know," Stan replied, faintly; looking down at his clenched hands. "Didn't Kyle seem a little off to you, Kenny? He wasn't acting like himself, right?"

Kenny shrugged and took another hit, his face thoughtful.

"He did seem pretty out of it, now that you mention it," he said. "Almost like he was fighting against something."

"Yeah! Exactly!" Stan exclaimed, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. "It was like Craig had some weird hold over him; everything he told Kyle to do, he did. That just isn't him, dude; Kyle's stubborn as fuck."

"That's for damn sure," Kenny chuckled.

"That's why this is all so bizarre," Stan continued. "And what did Craig mean about it being his turn and me not deserving Kyle? What the hell was he talking about?"

"Stan, Craig's been hung up on Kyle for years," Bebe said suddenly, strolling into the room and yawning. She was dressed in another one of Kenny's oversized t-shirts, the neck loose and draped low over one shoulder. Sitting down on Kenny's lap, she didn't seem too concerned about flashing her lacy panties to Stan, her shapely legs long and tanned.

"Dude, Bebe, have you been here the whole time?" Stan asked, incredulously, his eyes quickly skipping away from Bebe's panties when Kenny gave him a look of warning. "Did you sleep through all of that?"

"Ambien," she replied, simply. "It knocks me the fuck out." Kissing Kenny's cheek, she reached out her hand expectantly and he handed her the blunt. Sighing, she took a long hit.

Stan just shook his head as he watched her exhale.

"What do you mean Craig's been hung up on Kyle for years?" He asked.

Bebe glanced at Kenny and laughed a little, her face incredulous.

"Is he serious?" She asked.

"I'm afraid so," Kenny replied. "Dude's as dense as ever, I'm afraid."

"What the fuck are you two talking about?" Stan interjected, his irritation beginning to boil over. "I mean, I know Craig has always been freakishly preoccupied with Kyle, but -"

"Stan, that freaky motherfucker is in love with Kyle," Bebe cut him off. "Get a clue. Did you know he even has a picture of Kyle in his wallet?"

"And you slept with this guy more than once?" Kenny asked, accepting the joint as she passed it back.

"Sure," she said, nonchalantly. "He's weird but he's a beast in the sack, let me tell you," she grinned, tugging at Kenny's messy hair.

"H-he carries a picture of Kyle around in his wallet?" Stan asked, little fingers of fear creeping up his backbone. "You can't be serious."

"Why would I lie about something like that?" Bebe asked, one eyebrow raised. "Besides, you can just tell by the way he talks about Kyle, Stan. He loves him; plain and simple."

"It's true, dude," Kenny commented. "I thought you knew that already."

"I had my suspicions," Stan replied, leaning forward and rubbing his face; the world shifting out of focus as he tried to get his bearings. "Jesus Christ, this whole situation is so fucked up; I have no idea what to do!"

"I mean, have you ever considered the possibility that Kyle likes Tucker? Stranger things have happened, right?" Kenny asked, stubbing out the blunt and laying a hand on Bebe's naked thigh.

"No way," Stan replied, shaking his head. "I know Kyle cares about him, but there's no way he loves him. At least, I don't think so..." he trailed off as Kenny and Bebe regarded him with somber eyes. Had he just missed all the signs? Did Kyle actually love Craig? Brushing this thought aside, he cracked his knuckles, trying to pull the focus back to something he could attempt to make sense of.

"The scratches," he murmured. "Kyle said something weird about them, about how they got there?"

"What do you mean?" Kenny asked.

Stan licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling horribly dry; those violent shreds in Kyle's skin assaulting his memory.

"He said he went to sleep and that he was attacked in his dream, and when he woke up, he had those wounds," he said, hardly believing the story himself; but why would Kyle make something like that up?

"What, like Nightmare on Elm Street?" Kenny asked, echoing an inquiry Stan had had earlier after hearing the story for the first time.

"No, he said that the person who attacked him looked like this same dude that Craig is always talking to at the bar," Stan said, waving Kenny's question away. "Kenny, you've seen him, right? The dark haired guy?"

"I've seen him," Bebe piped up. "I've met Craig at his work a few times and that guy is there a lot. He's always dressed really nicely, but he's fucking weird; creepy, creepy eyes," she added, shuddering.

A serious look passed over Kenny's face then, his blue eyes narrowing.

"I think I know who you're talking about," he said. "I've noticed him in passing, but I didn't really get a good look at him, but he gave off a bad vibe, you know? I've felt it before, almost like I've met him in the past."

"Where?" Stan asked, surprised.

"You wouldn't believe me even if you tried," Kenny replied, wryly. "But if he's the same guy I'm thinking of, I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with the way Kyle is acting."

"Really? You think so?"

Kenny nodded, his expression becoming grim.

"We need more to work with here," he said, softly. "I mean, I'd suggest going to the cops, but we really have nothing to prove that anything weird is going on, you know? Besides, if my hunch is right, there's nothing they could really do to help us anyway."

"You really think so?" Stan asked, looking downtrodden. He thought a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, speaking slowly as his mind worked, "I wouldn't be surprised if there was something in Craig's room that could shed some light on all this weird shit, but I don't have a key to their apartment."

"Seriously?" Bebe asked, looking amazed. "They've been living there for two years! Christ, Kenny gave me a key to this place after a week!"

Stan shrugged, suddenly appearing embarrassed.

"Craig never wanted me to have one," he explained, his voice hushed with shame. "He said it made him uncomfortable."

"That sleazy motherfucker," Kenny spat. "Well, I wouldn't worry about that, Stan."

"Why?"

"I can pick any fucking lock I want," he grinned, giving Stan a thumbs up. "You know what that means, right?"

Stan finally managed a smile, his heart feeling a little lighter; though only by a fraction.

"I think it means that Craig better watch his ass," he replied, rubbing his hands together.

Kyle rapidly blinked his eyes, but he still couldn't make sense of his situation. Slowly, he sat up, and pressed his hands against the surface he was laying on, discovering it was covered over with soft velveteen; stained a deep, rich red the color of Cabernet.

Vague fear was coming alive in his brain as he looked around, and he saw that his surroundings were steeped in opulence, almost like the bedchambers in a long ago palace; Versailles, maybe? But, no, that was impossible, wasn't it?

"What the hell is going on?" He whispered, and in the unbearable silence of the room his voice sounded childlike and frail, nearly becoming lost as it traveled.

Kyle dropped his gaze and saw that he was clothed in Craig's long t-shirt, and he was sitting on a chaise lounge stretched out in the center of the room. Elaborate fabric hangings covered the walls, spattered over with horrifying images of people being tortured and maimed; rendered beautifully in strokes of oil paint.

"Goya?" He inquired softly, slowly throwing his feet over the chaise and pressing them to the floor; cold and almost feeling wet against his skin.

The images on the walls had the unsettling quality of Francisco Goya's "Black Paintings"; rife with blood and fear, sending a shudder through Kyle's body. Wincing, he felt the jagged wounds on his back pulse, and he whimpered from terror and pain.

"Craig?" He called out, passing over the floor and searching desperately for an exit.

The last thing he could remember was Craig carrying him to bed, soft early morning sunlight cascading into the bedroom while birds sung in the trees outside; puffy, little snow buntings. He'd laid Kyle against the sheets and they'd had sex, but Craig had been so soft, so kind; stroking Kyle's sweaty hair as he fell asleep in his arms afterward.

But, now...now...

Laying his hand against the wall, his fingers scraping over the frenzied violence depicted in the hangings, Kyle tried to find a way out of the room, but there didn't seem to be a door or a window; absolutely no way to escape, and he leaned down and clutched at his knees as a pervasive feeling of dread overtook him. Fire and agony were licking their way through his veins as tears collected in his eyes, frustration and fear overwhelming him. Why couldn't anything make sense anymore? When did his whole life dissolve into a nightmare he had no control over?

Hating himself for his weakness, Kyle sobbed into his knees until he heard slow footsteps coming toward him, and he looked up sharply; his heartbeat racing violently in his aching, flame-drenched chest. He almost collapsed when he saw who it was, and he instantly rose to his feet in shock.

"S-Stan?" He asked, voice tremulous and unbelieving. "What are you doing here?"

Stan stood there before him, tall and handsome, his eyes a deep blue and a slow smile pulling at his mouth; appearing so sweet and full of love that Kyle instantly went to him. At the last minute he stopped, though; sudden suspicion rearing its head and telling him to be still.

"Stan?"

Stan opened his arms wide, and a look of vague fear passed over his face; darkening his eyes and making them look like a violent sea.

"Do you know where we are, Kyle? I woke up and I was here, and I don't know how to leave," he said, and Kyle almost swooned to hear his voice; the voice he'd adored since childhood.

Overriding his suspicions, Kyle ran to Stan and allowed himself to be gathered into his arms and hugged close; their heartbeats almost seeming to match up. Gasping, the fire in his blood seemed to gather strength, but Kyle ignored it; wanting nothing more than to sink into Stan and disappear from the agony forever.

"I don't know where we are either," Kyle murmured against Stan's chest, breathing in the heavenly scent of clean laundry and mint. Another scent lingered among the familiar but Kyle couldn't place it, and it was decidedly sweet and cloying. "But if we stay together we'll be okay."

"I'm kind of hungry, though," Stan said, holding him close. "Do you think there's anything to eat here?"

Kyle pulled away and smirked up at Stan, a feeling of tenderness welling up inside of him.

"You would be talking about food at a time like this," he said, amused. Looking around, he noticed a table stacked high with food; rich aromas suddenly floating to him and drawing him in. "There," he pointed, and he tugged Stan over to the banquet laid out; sumptuous cakes, roasts, soups, and a million other delicacies glistening and throwing their scents into the air.

Stan reached out and grabbed a perfect, rosy apple; holding it up so its deep, red peel caught the light emanating from above.

"Want to share it?" He asked, smiling lovingly; his hand coming to rest on Kyle's face and stroking him tenderly.

Kyle couldn't put his finger on it, but something inside of his mind told him not to take the fruit, but when he looked into Stan's eyes he could almost feel himself falling. More than anything, he wanted to be safe with Stan in moments like this; sweet simplicity pushing back the darkness. Briefly, his brain conjured up an image of Craig, and a jarring sorrow swept through him, accelerating the fire even as he tried to push the thought away. His heart physically ached when Craig passed his mind, like it was breaking into pieces without him there; searching and yearning for him.

"Sure," he said, raw defiance building inside of him, and he gently took the apple; its skin wonderfully cool against his fingertips. "It's so pretty," he commented, studying it. "It almost looks fake, don't you think?"

"I bet it tastes amazing," Stan grinned, glancing at the table. "In fact, everything looks incredible. Hurry up so we can really get down to business, okay?"

"You're so greedy when it comes to food," Kyle replied, bringing the apple to his lips and taking a large bite; his teeth sinking into the flesh and his mouth flooding with unbearable sweetness, and -

"J-Jesus Christ," he gasped out as a thick, metallic flavor coated his tongue and dripped out of his mouth; floods of nausea creeping up his throat as horrible, fresh blood ran down his chin.

Kyle stared at the apple still clutched in his hand and saw that it was weeping gore; the place where he'd bitten the skin drenched and dripping crimson. Frantically, he dropped the fruit and it fell to the cold floor with a squishy thud. He looked up at Stan to beg him for help but the awful, dark stranger from before had taken his place; murder scene eyes alive with malicious amusement and cruelty.

"No," Kyle managed to choke out through a mouthful of blood, and he tried to back away but in an instant Kyle was wrapped up in strong arms; sharp claws digging into the wounds screaming on his back.

"I think we both deserve a taste of forbidden fruit, don't you?" The handsome stranger whispered as he licked falling blood trails from Kyle's lips, making him rear back as abhorrence and bile bubbled up into his mouth.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Kyle yelled, finally finding the strength to push him away. Backing up, he clawed at his lips and tongue to rid them of the terrible blood, saliva welling up in his mouth as he started to dry heave. Looking around frantically, he started screaming for Stan, for Craig, for anyone.

The stranger only laughed hysterically as Kyle continued to scream and fell to the floor, coughing up blood onto the dark stones; red drenching the front of his shirt. After watching for a moment, he started loping slowly toward Kyle like a dark panther; every movement methodical and deliberate.

"S-stay away from m-me," Kyle stuttered out. "Just fucking stay a-away! Who the fuck are you, anyway?!"

"I already told you, cherub," he responded, jagged voice cutting straight through Kyle's aching head like a lance. "I'm the fire that's burning you up right now." He stopped and sniffed the air. "You're being consumed, aren't you? How does it feel?" He grinned, sharp canines white against his lips.

Kyle gasped as he continued to back away, leaving a trail of scarlet in his wake; the front of his shirt deluged and wrecked with blood. Abruptly, he felt a hard object pressed into the wounds on his back, and looked over his shoulder; the chaise lounge right behind him and impeding his escape. He held up a trembling hand to ward the stranger off, who had once again started forward; stalking him with red-black eyes gleaming.

"N-nothing you s-say makes any sense," Kyle said, his voice becoming stilted as the fire burned through him; decimating everything in its path until he could barely hold his head up.

"Oh, I make perfect sense, Kyle," the man replied, kneeling in front of him now and taking a hold of his chin; squeezing gently. "But if you need a name, I can give you one; I'm known to most as the Deceiver, but you, cherub, can call me Damien."

"D-Damien...?" Kyle asked, his voice dying in his mouth as Damien leaned down to kiss his throat; his tongue lapping away wayward blood and sighing deeply. "W-why are you doing this t-to me? I don't understand."

Damien smirked and yanked Kyle up from the floor. Swiftly, he shoved Kyle back onto the chaise lounge and held him down, one clawed hand raking through his tangled curls.

"Unbeknownst to you, someone invited me in," he purred, his hands stroking through still wet blood and dragging the scarlet streaks down Kyle's shirt until there were tracks of it painted across his exposed, pale thighs. "Now I can access you whenever I want, and there's nothing you can do to stop me, unless..." he trailed off as he pulled up Kyle's shirt to expose his naked lower half.

"U-unless?" Kyle asked, trembling as he felt those cruel clawed fingers stroking across his skin; their sharp points digging in and creating more fire. All at once, Damien was brutally shoving his thighs apart and he arched on the chaise; his whole body seizing up with fear and humiliation.

"Decisions, decisions," Damien sang in a voice resembling an otherworldly canticle; profoundly wrong and discordant. "Someone still needs to make a decision, and until they do, I'll keep visiting you like this."

Damien bit down on Kyle's throat then and he shrieked as he felt the skin being torn through, his thighs still painfully splayed as Damien's fingers crept closer and closer to a place he had no right to.

"N-no, please," Kyle sobbed, his whole body rejecting the nightmare holding him down; sharp agony cutting through him as a clawed finger began to delve and explore. "D-don't do this..."

"Why don't you cry out for Stan some more?" Damien asked, nipping sharply at Kyle's collar bone. "Maybe he'll actually come save you." He laughed, and his finger was sliding in slowly, cutting and preparing Kyle for the worst; Kyle's mind beginning to go blank as the tides of agony built, flashes of fire engulfing him.

"Or how about Craig?" Damien whispered next to his ear. "Did I mention he's dreamed of seeing you just like this? Covered in blood and completely at his mercy?"

"No!" Kyle screamed, his brain cracking and splintering as he finally gave into the hellish tide overwhelming him; all of the fear and pain and agony converging on him in a cataclysm that tore him into shreds. "No! I need to wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

"Kyle! Kyle! Wake up! Can you hear me?!" A frantic voice was calling to him through the swirling fog, but his body felt locked up; too afraid to wake up and come out of the dark, the light assaulting his closed eyes.

"H-huh?" Kyle groaned, his eyes fluttering open and bright sunlight slicing into his pupils, saturating everything in white for a moment before he could make out Craig's terrified face hovering in front of him. "Craig?" He whispered, his hands reaching up and clenching Craig's shirt; almost too terrified to believe he was real and Damien was gone.

"Kyle, what the hell happened? You started screaming and you're, you're..." Craig pulled Kyle into a sitting position, and rubbed a finger across his aching mouth; red splatters clinging to his hand when he drew it away.

"It's blood," Kyle sobbed, breaking down and clinging to Craig as he began to shiver. "I-I took a bite of an apple and it was filled with blood, and then Damien -"

"Damien?" Craig cut in, sharply. "Are you sure?"

Kyle nodded against his shoulder, violent tremors breaking through him.

"Yes," he whispered. "He kept saying he'd visit me until a decision was made, and Craig, I have no fucking clue what he was talking about! I have no idea what's even going on anymore! I'm not even allowed to go to sleep!"

"Shh," Craig soothed him, drawing Kyle close and cradling him in his arms until the tremors started to recede; his hand running gently through Kyle's hair. He kissed Kyle softly, his lips lingering on his temple. "I'm here, Kyle. Okay? Everything is going to be alright."

"You can't promise that," Kyle said, bitterly. "You can't keep me safe all the time, and Damien's just going to keep terrorizing me; he pretty much told me that." He pulled away and looked into Craig's concerned, cloudy eyes; gray like a turbulent sea. "Craig, what's happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing, Kyle. You don't deserve any of this," Craig said, softly; and all at once he was kissing Kyle's lips so tenderly, his tongue slipping into his mouth and tasting him. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispered, and Kyle thought he could hear tears in his voice. Vaguely, Kyle could feel him lapping at the blood still clinging to his skin, and a low terror began to grip him even as desire obliterated his resistance.

"Please," he practically sobbed, pushing at Craig as he lay Kyle down; his wounded back soft against cold pillows. "Craig, I can't; not after what just happened."

Craig shushed him again and his gaze stole down the length of Kyle's body, his eyes trailing over the blood snaked across Kyle's thighs, and he could see the desire burning in them; just like Damien had said...how could he have known?

"You're so beautiful," Craig breathed, and he pushed up Kyle's t-shirt; his fingers straying over him and gently reaching around to cup Kyle's backside. Leaning down, he kissed his neck and bit gently at Kyle's pulse, making him cry out and cling to his shirt; his mind falling back into the flames and becoming lost.

"Please, no," Kyle begged again, but he knew it was no use, and he could feel a jagged splinter breaking through his mind; the agonizing sensation in his chest of being torn in two reaching new heights. The need to resist and fight was all but destroyed when Craig gently turned him over onto his stomach, and the red fog filled up his brain until he couldn't think; his body becoming slack as he mindlessly obeyed, his entire being capitulating as he allowed Craig to use him as he would.

 _Why do I keep fighting?_ He asked himself, his mind overrun with too much pain and fire and terror to resist anymore. _Craig loves me so much, and he only wants to take care of me, doesn't he?_

Lost in what could only be considered a fever dream, Kyle became pliable as Craig kissed along his backbone and aching wounds; his whole body dripping with flames and desire, the part of his brain that screeched at him to fight laying down and flying the white flag. It was almost like slipping into the warmest, most tantalizing bath, and all Kyle could do was sigh and surrender; his entire being submitting as his mind shattered like a glittering mirror, pieces scattering everywhere.

 _Don't I want to be reborn? Won't I be happier this way?_ Kyle continued to muse, his secret thoughts chasing away the fright that Damien had instilled in him; the confusion he'd been wandering through for days. _Why can't I love Craig, too? Don't I love him already? He's always been so kind to me..._

"I love you," Craig whispered, his fingers opening up Kyle and making him whimper; beauty arresting him as he drifted on a tide of Craig's making.

Kyle almost could've cried when Craig was inside him again, their bodies moving together as Stan completely evaporated from his churning thoughts; and somewhere he could hear Damien's laughter, rising up and feeding the darkness as it conquered the light.

So, Damien was going to force his hand, huh? That dirty fucking son of a bitch was going to pay for what he'd done, Craig was sure of that, but in a way he was glad to have a fire lit under him; it just meant that he would have to take care of Stan sooner than he'd anticipated. No matter, if that's what needed to be done to keep Kyle by his side, he'd make it happen; the ends truly justified the means, didn't they?

Craig seethed with a rage he could almost taste as he pushed into Kyle, who moaned and writhed beneath him; the smooth, untarnished skin of his thighs laced with tracks of crimson, the sight making Craig's mouth water almost uncontrollably. How could he be so beautiful and pure and perfect? He almost felt like he was helping an angel fall from grace, his cock pulsing with every thrust and movement; his hands clenching around fragile hipbones.

"I love you," he repeated, because he could never say it enough; though Craig's heart ached when Kyle didn't say it back. But that would come in time, right?

Somehow, Craig could almost feel his love changing and evolving with every passing day. It was becoming stronger, more all-consuming; almost uncontrollable, and he had to wonder if it had anything to do with his methods of obtaining what he'd always wanted. Never before had he dreamed of seeing Kyle in this position, face-down and covered over with blood, his mouth open and gasping as Craig fucked him; a feeling of euphoric power almost making him take leave of his senses. No, he hadn't wished for this until Damien had given him the poison; had finally given him a chance to have what he most fervently desired. It was like there were secret parts of his heart being awakened every day, and Craig suddenly realized he was almost a stranger to himself, even now.

But it felt so good, so right, and even though they had barely begun Craig could already feel himself reaching his limit; panting as his climax swiftly approached. Suddenly, he reached around and grabbed Kyle's cock, stroking him tenderly with every thrust, making Kyle cry out and drool against the pillow.

"You like that?" He murmured, hips rocking slower as he pumped Kyle; every movement making him sob and push himself against Craig's hand.

Kyle nodded his head and lay his face against the pillow, and Craig could see how unfocused his vermilion eyes had become; seeming beautifully lost as he sunk into the sensation of being fucked and teased. All at once, he felt Kyle's lithe body shudder a little, and a hot wetness was saturating clean cotton sheets, and Kyle was panting and moaning; his fingers clenched around his pillow as Craig continued to drive into his body, quickly unraveling as he poured his heat into his beloved.

Craig was so spent and lost in paradise that he almost didn't hear the tiny words that Kyle spoke between pink, parted lips; the sounds obliterated among ragged breaths and deep fatigue.

"What?" Craig said, pushing fragrant, red hair out of Kyle's face; his fingers stroking over his plump bottom lip. "Did you say something?"

"I love you," Kyle whispered, and he turned his face away, hiding it in the pillow almost like he was ashamed to be seen.

Craig could only stare at him in complete and utter shock, his entire body buzzing as he allowed the words to wash through him; every nerve alive and popping as unbridled joy poured bright sunlight into his heart. Pulling out gently, he leaned down next to Kyle and forced him to look him in the eyes; his own besieged with scarlet fire that practically had the power to burn Craig to the ground.

"Say that again, Kyle," he whispered, his hand gripping his chin; not allowing him to turn his face away. "Please, I need to hear it again."

Flames crackled and roared in those hellish irises, and a red flush rose in already rosy cheeks as Kyle considered him, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Craig couldn't pinpoint it, but there was a change in him that was almost tangible; like something had been torn down and was in the process of being rebuilt.

"I said, I love you, Craig," he finally said, and his voice was a wraith of smoke; evaporating as quickly as it met the air.

"You do?" Craig asked, voice faint and tremulous with hope. Every agonizing moment of the last decade converged on him at once in the span of seconds, and he could practically feel the cracks in his heart filling in; almost like they'd never existed in the first place.

Kyle nodded, but there was a sadness in his eyes that seemed so far away that Craig almost missed it. It was there for a second and then it was gone, swallowed up by the inferno raging out of control inside of his sweet Kyle.

"Will you stay with me forever?" He asked, hands trembling as he cradled Kyle's face. "You'll forget about Stan?"

Kyle bit his lip and tears swelled for a moment before receding; his eyes taking on a blank quality that made Craig's heart pound. All at once, he was back though, and Kyle was hungrily kissing Craig's lips; his own still tasting of blood but still breathlessly sweet and intoxicating.

"You're all I want, Craig," he murmured. "Forever."

"Jesus, I thought they were never fucking going to leave," Kenny griped as he hurriedly picked the lock, his skilled fingers working the tiny instruments as Stan anxiously kept a lookout.

"Oh, quit complaining, dude," Stan replied, glancing around, afraid that every tiny movement and sound was Craig and Kyle coming back; the hairs on the back of his neck practically standing up. "Just hurry up, okay?"

"Hey, man, you can't hurry perfection," Kenny said, grunting a little as he worked at the lock. "Besides, I'm going as fast as I can, so get off my case."

"I think it's weird you know how to do this in the first place," Stan commented, jamming his hands in his pockets and letting out a breath. "And I can't believe you actually have the tools and everything."

"And I can't believe you jack off using your pillow but life goes on, huh?" Kenny asked, smirking a little as he continued to work.

"Hey! How the fuck -" Stan started, but he gritted his teeth and shut his mouth; irritation flooding him. Now was not the time for them to fight. Besides, he could kick the shit out of Kenny later. "Are you close, at least?"

"Even better," Kenny murmured, working the knob; the door opening smoothly. "I'm done."

"Dude, you're a fucking genius!" Stan exclaimed, grabbing his arm in jubilation; his anger completely gone in an instant. "I'm gonna buy you so much goddamn weed as thanks; you just wait."

"Believe me, I'm lactating with excitement," Kenny replied, wryly. "But let's just focus, okay? We're about to step into the den of a fucking psychopath. Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Stan said, stepping over the threshold and into the hushed apartment; Kenny in tow. "God, it's so weird being here without Tucker hovering, you know? Like, whenever I'm here with Kyle he's just there, even when he's in his own room. He just has this presence, you know what I mean?"

Kenny nodded, glancing around; his finger straying over the shade of the Tiffany lamp.

"Dude is definitely weird, Stan; no doubt about it," he said. "Although, I always thought he was pretty harmless, all things considered."

"I don't know, he always gave off such a bizarre vibe," Stan said, leading him down the hallway toward Craig's room. "Even when we were kids, although," he said, trailing off as he contemplated the door; his hand resting on the handle.

"Although, what?" Kenny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I ever tell you that Craig was the one who told me to grow the fuck up and actually talk to Kyle that one summer? Remember, I was being all weird and kind of ignoring him?"

Kenny nodded, thinking for a moment.

"Yeah, I think so. I can remember him being really upset at Wendy's party, but of course I didn't really know why. Dude, you were being a major fucking douche."

"Thanks," Stan replied, rolling his eyes. Twisting the knob, he pushed the door open and they contemplated Craig's room for a moment before finally stepping inside. "That means a lot."

"Hey, I'm just calling a spade a spade," Kenny said, looking around the room. "So, Tucker was the one to tell you to sack up, huh?"

"Yeah, but he made me promise not to tell Kyle. I always thought that was weird, even though it made me realize just how much he cared about him. God, I was so fucking jealous back then."

"Back then?" Kenny snorted. "Dude, you still are; don't deny it."

"Maybe so," Stan replied, absentmindedly; his eyes falling on the bed and widening at the streaks of blood dried on the sheets. "What the fuck happened here? This looks like a murder took place or something!"

"Good question," Kenny said, picking up a blanket between two fingers. "Motherfucker needs to do his laundry."

Stan managed to tear his eyes away from the disturbing sight of gore resting in Craig's bed, and he shrugged a little.

"Where should we start? I don't even know what to look for."

"Just weird shit," Kenny replied, gesturing at the bed. "I'm pretty sure it won't be in short supply, if this is anything to go by." He dropped to his knees and pulled up the blanket. Leaning down, he lay his head against the floor and looked under the bed, his hand drifting under to root around.

"Hello, what's this?" He said, pulling out a dusty photo album. Sitting up, he propped it on his knees and opened it, his eyes wide and disbelieving when he glanced at Stan. "Dude, check this shit out."

"What the fuck?" Stan breathed, kneeling beside him. "What is this?"

"It's...Kyle," Kenny said, flipping through the pages; every single one of them filled with pictures of the redhead.

Reaching out, Stan turned the pages faster and faster, every square inch covered over with photos of Kyle. Kyle sleeping, Kyle eating, Kyle walking, sitting, looking away, from far away, close up, through windows, in cars -

"Jesus Christ," Stan said, hardly believing his eyes. "It doesn't even seem like Kyle knew most of these pictures were being taken."

Suddenly, he leaned down and thrust his arm under the bed, sucking air in between his teeth when he felt what had to be another photo album.

"Here, help me," he said, glancing at Kenny.

"Right."

Between them, they managed to pull out over 20 photo albums from beneath Craig's bed; every single one of them filled to the brim with pictures of Kyle. At one point they almost started laughing because they were in such states of shock, never having any idea how far Craig's obsession went.

"This...this can't be real," Stan said, as he looked at the piles of albums. "It just can't be; it's too fucking weird. Even for Craig."

"The proof is in the pudding," Kenny said, flipping through a random album. "I mean, Kyle is pretty photogenic, but still."

"Dude, that's hardly the point," Stan said, his heart pounding from the extremely bizarre situation he was currently steeped in. "Should we, uh, should we look in the closet?"

"Why the fuck not?" Kenny shrugged. "Let's see how far down the rabbit hole this insanity goes."

Opening the closet, they pushed past some boxes and shoes and were assaulted with yet another cavalcade of albums; almost fifty in all. All of them were the same, filled with Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.

"Dude, he's really meticulous about dating them, have you noticed?" Kenny asked, pointing at Craig's neat block lettering. "And check it out," he said, nudging at a couple of shoe boxes. "There are more pictures in here."

"Is that...is that a lock of Kyle's hair?" Stan asked, pointing to a little red curl stuck in the plastic of one of the albums.

"Yep," Kenny said, reading the description next to it. "From when he was 16."

"How the fuck did he even get that?!" Stan asked, clutching at his head. "How the fuck did he take all of these pictures? This is like a decade's worth of shit!"

"Craig is a dedicated, organized psychopath," Kenny nodded. "No doubt about it."

"Like, what the hell are we going to do here?" Stan asked, practically tearing his hair out. "This is even worse than I thought it would be!"

"Yeah, and technically, while all of this is extremely creepy, it isn't illegal," Kenny said, looking around at Craig's obsessive collection. "I mean, I guess it's illegal to take pictures of people without their knowledge, but these are from years ago. Can the cops even do anything about that?"

"Probably not," Stan said, feeling helpless. "There has to be something here that will actually help us."

"I mean, this shit is already going to help me have nightmares tonight, so there's that,"Kenny said, grimacing. "Come on, let's keep looking; we'll find something."

They continued to search, but Stan quickly started to lose hope after they didn't find anything even remotely helpful, turning over every object and piece of clothing they could find; rooting through drawers. Finally, he went to Craig's bedside table and slid the drawer open, his optimism quickly fading, until -

"Hey, why does he still have this?" He asked, picking up a tiny scarlet bottle; the glass throbbing like a ruby heart under the lamplight.

"What is it?" Kenny asked, coming over.

"Well, Craig said it was vanilla extract," Stan murmured, twisting the bottle and looking at it from every angle. "I saw him pour it into Kyle's coffee not too long ago."

Suddenly, Kenny snatched the bottle out of his hand and looked at it closely. Untwisting the top, he brought it to his nose and smelled, recoiling swiftly with a look of disgust.

"You dumb ass," he said, handing the bottle back to Stan. "That was not fucking vanilla extract. Smell it!"

Reluctantly, Stan did the same, and the stench that assaulted his nose couldn't have been further from vanilla extract; the odor reeking of blood and decay and something else; something horribly sinister. His insides clenched just smelling it for an instant, his entire body seemingly rejecting it outright.

"What the hell is this?" He whispered. "Craig put this in Kyle's coffee, and I...I..."

"You what?" Kenny asked, crossing his arms.

"I served it to him," Stan said, his voice blank. "I watched him drink it." He looked up at Kenny, his face feeling frozen as his heart continued to thud painfully. "In fact, Craig asked me to give it to him, and he never asks me to do anything like that."

"Jesus Christ, Stan, are you fucking for real?" Kenny asked, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I don't know shit about baking and stuff but even I know that vanilla extract doesn't come in a bottle that looks like that. Why didn't you say something?"

"I wasn't thinking," Stan murmured, feeling unbelievably stupid and weirdly betrayed; but a streak of rage was rising up as well, white hot and ready to go to battle. "Why would I ever have reason to think that Craig would, God..." He clutched at his head in despair.

"Kenny, did I fucking help Craig poison Kyle?"

Kenny shook his head, his face somber.

"I don't know, dude; but we need to figure this shit out as soon as we can." His eyes drifted over to the drawer again and plucked up a white business card, elegant script adorning the front; he read it and his face filled with raw panic.

"What? What is it?!" Stan asked. "Fucking tell me!"

"Damien Thorn," he whispered, handing the card to Stan. "Jesus Christ, dude, this is worse than I thought."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: You Can Close Your Eyes

Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: Major warnings for this chapter, you guys: RAPE! GORE! VIOLENCE! DEMONIC STUFF! JUST BATSHIT CRAZY STUFF, IN GENERAL! Please do NOT read if this is not your bag, okay? I beg you. Anyway, I'm starting to sound like a fucking broken record over here, but this chapter was really fun to write, you guys. I've always been entranced by the idea of someone wandering through a huge field of flowers so, yeah, I managed to find a way to work that shit in. Also, more Damien action, bc I seriously cannot get enough of that demonic asshole. I'm super mean to everyone in this chapter pretty much, but we're getting close to the end so hang tight, boys; salvation is coming? (Or is it? Who even knows?) ANYWAY, enjoy and all that jazz. :D PS: I'm sure everyone's noticed that I'm always sticking songs in this story, which I used to consider fanfiction poison, but I don't even care - MUSIC IS LIFE.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 **9 Years Prior**

Clutches of daffodils trembled in the late-September sunshine; yellow and tremulous and scattered all around the grave. The headstone, simple and tasteful, had been cleaned and the words were so clear:

 _His gains in heaven are what they are._  
 _Yet some say Love by being thrall_  
 _And simply staying possesses all_  
 _In several beauty that Thought fares far_  
 _To find fused in another star.*_

Craig had always enjoyed the snippet of the poem Tweek's mother had chosen as the epitaph, and he was pretty sure he could recite it word for word by heart at this point. Maybe it didn't make a lot of sense to outsiders, but she had explained her reasoning behind it to Craig long ago, and it sat well with him; it just fit. Love would indeed keep Tweek's memory tethered to the Earth, but their thoughts flew with him past the sun and outward toward the stars; where he rested in Heaven. He would always be remembered in their hearts and minds, and they derived comfort from that fact even when the pain became overwhelming.

"I can't believe it's been a year," Kyle said, his fingers straying over the grey stone; a bouquet of daffodils held in his other hand. Dappled Autumn sunlight spattered his coat and lit him up, and for a moment Craig almost felt like he could smile, but then he looked at the grave again, and the notion died on his lips.

"It's weird how time works when it comes to stuff like this," Craig said, softly; leaning down and adjusting some of the daffodils. "Sometimes it feels like it's been years since he left, and other times it feels like it just happened yesterday. It's hard for me to wrap my head around it, you know?"

"Yeah, that makes sense," Kyle murmured, handing his bouquet to Craig so he could nestle it among the others. "I'm just waiting for someone to say something cheesy like 'time heals all wounds' or something like that so I can punch them in the mouth."

Craig laughed a little and stood, rubbing his hands together to rid them of dirt.

"I don't know, those stupid cliches hold up for a reason, don't they? I mean, it still hurts like hell but I feel better than I did a year ago."

"I'm glad to hear that," Kyle said, his voice warm even in the midst of chilly winds and sadness. "I know it'll never stop hurting, but I hope one day you can remember Tweek and just smile, you know? Like, that would be your first impulse; to be happy instead of being sad. Do you think that'll ever happen?"

"Who can say?" Craig asked, jamming his hands in his pockets and glancing at Kyle; his heart feeling shredded and filled with longing fire at the same time. "Only time will tell, right?"

 _I'll be okay as long as you're beside me,_ he thought, and he could feel a blush rising on his cheeks. More and more he was given to tender thoughts when it came to Kyle, and they still had the power to take him by surprise; he just wasn't that sort of sentimental fool, at least he hadn't thought he was. Everything was changing now, though.

"Did you want to come back to my house and have hot chocolate or something?" Kyle asked, shivering a little. "It's really starting to feel like Fall already, don't you think?"

"Yes and yes," Craig replied, giving Tweek's grave one final look before he managed to turn away. "It seems to start earlier every year, the cold, I mean."

"I kind of like it," Kyle said, falling into step beside him as they made their way back to Mrs. Tucker's car. She was sitting in the front seat and reading a book, dark sunglasses perched on her face. "I've always enjoyed cozy weather."

Suddenly, Craig could imagine being wrapped up in blankets with Kyle on a frigid day, and now he really was smiling even as he chastised himself; stupid, romantic flights of fancy. What was he becoming?

"That's the first time I've seen you smile today," Kyle mused, bumping him a little. "Hey, before I forget, what was the song they played at Tweek's funeral? I remember really liking it, but I can't remember the name for the life of me."

"You Can Close Your Eyes," Craig replied. "I can play it on the piano for you, if you want."

"I'd like that," Kyle said, glancing at him; green eyes bright like the leaves turning on the trees. He thought a moment, and then he started to hum the song's tune, voice soft and almost getting lost in the wind.

"So close your eyes, you can close your eyes, it's all right," Craig sung, feeling foolish; his voice a little rough. He wasn't much for singing.

"That's right," Kyle said, grinning. "Now I'm starting to remember; keep going."

Craig cleared his throat and as they drew closer to his mother's car, they finished the remainder of the chorus together; their voices mixing with the sunlight pouring down:

 _But I can sing this song_  
 _And you can sing this song_  
 _When I'm gone_.*

Craig was completely immersed in his project as the sweet scent of daffodils surrounded him; Kyle's diffuser working quietly on his nightstand. He'd even gone so far as to buy apple-scented oil for it, but he had wanted to smell Tweek's flower today; after all, the anniversary of his passing was just the week before, and he was still drifting in the past. His mind was having a tough time catching back up to the present, so Craig reveled in it; the memories, the bittersweet sadness, everything.

As he worked tirelessly with his scissors, Craig couldn't help but consider his current circumstances, too; so, really, his mind was a muddle, an utter mess that he just had to sift through. Everything was converging on him as he picked through the aftermath of the past, and the battlefield of the present. Thoughts of Kyle were juxtaposed with memories of Tweek, and more and more the redhead came into clearer view; his face shining like a distant star and pushing through the darkness. A raw tenderness tore through Craig's heart as he carefully cut through the stiff paper, glossy photographs falling in piles on his desk.

He was still trying to make sense of his feelings, and as he lapsed into a brown study, Craig could only pick out a few bright truths; undeniable facts that blazed among the wreckage in his brain. Yes, he loved Kyle because Kyle was easy to love, but there was more to it than that; much more. Kyle had helped pull him back from an abyss he hadn't even known he was stepping into. Vividly, Craig could remember the days and weeks after Tweek died, and he could recall floundering in the tides as they pulled him out and away from reality; his mind collapsing as misery began to break him. He'd been drowning everyday and he had never wanted to admit it, because he welcomed it.

But all of that changed after Kyle broke into his life, because when he'd entered he'd brought the light with him; the warm days and the stars, happiness and hope. Kyle had woken him up when he'd first knocked on Craig's door so long ago; an October day that had its own special significance now. How could Craig help but love him after all of that? After everything?

Stroking his fingertips over the photograph in his hand, Craig could barely conceive of how far he'd already fallen. When he'd realized the truth finally, it hadn't taken too long for his feelings to rise up and multiply; becoming stronger and stronger as the days passed. Now his thoughts were almost always miles away, always in the same room with Kyle; even across the distance. If they weren't together, Craig was with him in his mind, because it was with Kyle that he found comfort; he felt safe and not so terribly alone, he felt truly free.

This thought filled him with a profound painful bitterness as he picked up another photo, his scissors poised and ready. Kyle should've been with Craig on that bright Saturday, but no, Kyle was with _him._ After he'd made the fatal mistake of helping Kyle and Stan reconcile, they'd been spending a lot more time together, and Craig could only sit by and watch.

 _That shithead doesn't fucking deserve him,_ he seethed inwardly for the millionth time; his teeth gritted as he set his jaw. _He left him alone when he needed someone the most. He hurt him and he didn't even fucking seem to care._

The scissors snipped sharply through a photograph as Craig stewed, his thoughts straying to darker territory now. He could concede that Stan cared about Kyle on some level, but not in the way he really deserved. Kyle needed adoration and devotion, true devotion; not the halfhearted crap that Stan was willing to provide. From what Craig had observed, Stan bestowed a sort of self-conscious indulgence upon Kyle, almost like he viewed him as being inferior; a pet of sorts. Stan's attentions seemed to be borne of habit, not of actual true love; the type that burned through you and either consumed you, or destroyed you completely.

He kept wondering why Kyle loved Stan so much, and Craig could hardly make heads or tails of it. Sure, they'd been best friends since they were babies, but was that enough? Childhood puppy love could turn into something real, he supposed, but what was the basis? Kyle's love seemed unflappable and complete, trapping him until he couldn't fly away, his eyes resting on Stan whenever he was in the room. He'd once told Craig that Stan always made him feel warm, like he was coming home, and that had ripped through Craig's insides, because he knew that feeling; he knew it so well it was swimming in his blood.

 _Maybe I should just tell him how I feel?_ He thought, and the idea of actually doing that scared the shit out of Craig. He'd often thought that maybe, if Kyle knew the truth, it would skew his thinking and then he'd actually open himself up to the possibility of not loving Stan. Maybe, just maybe, if he had an option, he'd take a different path; a course that would actually lead him to happiness; real happiness.

But what if Craig told him the truth and he just rejected him completely, without even a thought? He knew that Kyle was too kind to laugh at him or berate him for his feelings, but being pushed away would be just as painful, and then he wouldn't even have him as a friend. That possibility alone was enough to deter Craig from ever telling Kyle that he loved him. What he stood to lose was too monumental in the grand scheme of things, and Craig didn't like taking risks like that. If he ever made a move, it would be calculated and guaranteed to succeed, otherwise he would suffer in silence; just as long as he could stay close to Kyle, that's all that mattered.

Craig sighed in satisfaction as he looked down at his quickly unfolding project, and he stood to go over to the diffuser; which was quickly dwindling as the reserve of daffodil oil began to run out. Opening his bedside drawer, he pulled out the bottle of apple oil and smiled when he uncapped it; Kyle's scent floating into the room and arresting him. He was getting ready to pour it into the diffuser when his phone started ringing, and he lifted it from the bed, eyes widening to see Kyle's name splashed across the display. His heart pounded wildly as he answered, though his voice stayed calm; flat and controlled.

"Hey," he said, clenching the apple oil in his fist.

"Craig? I'm not bothering you, am I?" Kyle's voice chirped on the other end, cute and endearing.

Craig rolled his eyes even as tenderness stole through him; his relentlessly thoughtful Kyle, always thinking of others.

"I wouldn't have answered if you were bothering me, Kyle," he said, his voice fond. "What's up?"

"Well," Kyle started, his voice fading away a little as the sounds of wind flooded the background. "I'm not sure if I should tell you this over the phone."

Craig's heartbeat picked up dramatically at this choice of words, and he held the phone a little tighter; willing himself to stay calm.

"What do you mean?" He asked. "What's going on?"

"I did something," Kyle replied, voice soft; almost like a warm little hum against Craig's ear. "I still can't believe I did it, though. It just happened before I even realized it, isn't that crazy?"

Craig almost felt like he was going to crack his phone in two as apprehension gripped him. Faintly, he was aware that there was a tiny thread of happiness winding its way through Kyle's voice, and for whatever reason, it terrified him. Clenching his teeth, he sat on the bed.

"You know I hate it when you do this," he finally said, rubbing his arm across his eyes; the bottle still held tightly in his fingers. "Just fucking spit it out, Broflovski. What are you trying to tell me?"

Kyle was silent for some time, and for a moment Craig was afraid he'd lost him, but then -

"I-I told Stan that I love him, Craig," he practically whispered. "Earlier today."

To say that the world dropped from beneath Craig when he heard those words was an understatement, and for a moment he was reeling; scrambling in the dark as chaos engulfed him, his heart ripping into pieces and being set on fire. His whole body hurt like his nerves had been set ablaze; almost like the skin had been torn from his bones and he was sitting completely exposed; naked and vulnerable to every sort of pain and torment.

"You...you did?" He managed to say, his voice frail and shattered. "Really?"

"Yes, and," Kyle said, and Craig could hear him taking a deep breath on the other end before he spoke again:

"He told me he loved me, too."

For a moment, Craig had the overwhelming desire to just throw the phone against the wall so he could watch it break into a million pieces. For a moment, he wanted to get up and walk through his room and destroy everything; shred his books, hurl his lamp through the window, kick in his TV and pulverize his stereo. He just wanted to walk through the world and decimate everything in his path, because the feeling that was welling up inside of his skin was too big for him to contain; it was filling him up to an unbearable, breathless extent, and there was no way he could suffer this agony alone. It was too much, it was too big, it was too fucking agonizing for him to deal with.

Instead, he could feel his body becoming lax even as the anguish consumed him, and when he spoke next his voice was the picture of serenity; words measured and precise.

"Oh, wow, dude," he said, almost like he was reading from a script. "That's amazing. I'm really happy for you."

"You are?" Kyle asked, and Craig could imagine him wherever he was; holding the phone and smiling his sweet smile; green eyes full of faraway places and love as he nursed his burgeoning romance. He could practically see those red curls shimmering in lamplight or under the sun, could smell the apples and spice wafting from pale skin. He could see everything clear and easy, and even this had the power to cut through his heart until it was useless. Everything was fucking useless.

"Of course I am," Craig replied, sitting up slowly; feeling like he was in a hazy trance. "Hey, my mom's calling me; I have to go, okay? But I'll call you later."

"Oh, okay," Kyle said, sounding a little unsure. "I was hoping I could drop by later."

"I'll let you know," Craig said, and he ended the call before Kyle could respond.

Setting the phone gently aside, he gazed down at the bottle of apple oil still laying across his palm. Mechanically, he stood from the bed and went to the diffuser where he uncapped the bottle and poured the oil in, freshly-cut apples floating around him and almost making him shudder. Slowly, Kyle's aroma overpowered the daffodils until they were gone, faint wisps of their sunshine scent lingering like ghosts for just a moment. Breathing deeply, Craig went back to his desk and considered the photographs strewn across the top, physical manifestations of memories he could hold in his hands. His heart was just a hole in his chest right now, but he sat and continued to work; his sharp scissors slicing through square after square; little clippings collecting so he could throw them away.

He worked for hours until the sun went down, and vaguely he could hear his phone ringing, but he ignored it. He couldn't fathom being next to Kyle right now, not while the pain was so fresh and new and devastating. No, he needed to be alone for awhile, and besides, he had to work on his project; it was more important now than ever before.

Under his hands, pictures of Kyle lay in neat stacks, but there were so many that needed to be trimmed of the fat, so to speak. Off to his side was a messy pile of discarded images of Stan, excised and ready for the trash. Some were weeks' old, and others were so fresh they were practically brand-new. His favorite photos were the ones where Kyle was bathed in sunlight, and those he set off to the side so he could look at them again before going to bed. Reaching into his desk drawer, Craig pulled out an album he'd bought just for these photos, and he opened it; the musty, pleasant aroma of leather and plastic wafting toward him. He just hoped that it was big enough for all of his pictures, but then again, he could always buy another, couldn't he?

 **Present Day**

Craig couldn't remember ever being happier than he was in that moment. Really, everything was absolutely perfect; perfect beyond measure. He still couldn't believe that life could change so quickly after years of sadness and suffering, but here he was with his Kyle, out on a real date. He had dreamed of taking him out like this for so long, and now it was actually happening, and it was almost too mesmerizing for him to believe it was real.

"Do you like your food?" He asked, his face propped in his hand as he watched Kyle pick at his pasta; silverware held limply in one slender hand.

"Hmm?" Kyle replied, looking up with wide eyes. He had been quiet for awhile, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, and Craig wanted to bring him back; to the wonderful reality of the present.

He reached out a hand and took Kyle's, his fingers pressing into the warm flesh he adored. Craig searched Kyle's face and saw that his eyes had mostly gone back to normal, but there was a ring of red fire drifting on the edges of his irises; it had been there since they'd had sex that morning, since they'd left the apartment. Usually, the red would've receded completely by now if Craig didn't provoke it, but now it just lingered; sullying green pastures with distant bonfires. Vague concern rose in his heart at this little detail, but Craig chose to ignore it in light of current circumstances.

"I asked if you like your food," Craig said, squeezing Kyle's hand a little.

"Oh, yes, it's fine," Kyle said, looking down at his plate; his fork winding its way through layers of linguini and clams. Setting it down gently, he sighed a little. "I guess I'm just not very hungry."

"Why not?" Craig asked, cocking an eyebrow and taking in Kyle's practically full plate. "You didn't have any breakfast, Kyle; you need to eat something."

Automatically, Kyle lifted his fork again and started to swirl pasta around it; his eyes taking on a slight dazed quality.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Craig asked, and the concern was back, but becoming stronger.

"You told me to eat," Kyle said, lifting the fork to his lips; his mouth opening wide.

Before he could place the food in his mouth, Craig gently reached out and took his fork; setting it back down on the plate.

"Why did you do that?" Kyle asked. "I just wanted to make you happy."

Craig sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, his heartbeat accelerating at the implications laid before him.

"I understand that, Kyle, and I appreciate it, but if you aren't hungry, you don't have to eat. Okay?"

A look of deep confusion mixed with fleeting misery passed over Kyle's face, his two-toned eyes scrunching a little as he tried to process what he was being told.

"But, you told me to. I thought I was supposed to..." he shrugged, looking down. "It's like I couldn't help myself, Craig."

A shard of sadness cut through Craig's joy as he listened, and he lifted Kyle's hand to his lips; kissing it softly.

"Kyle, do you love me?" He asked, softly. The events of that morning, when Kyle had finally told him he loved him, were taking on a new, agonizing quality; and Craig was starting to realize that he'd deluded himself. He was still breathless with happiness at hearing the words, but he had allowed himself to view them as the absolute truth, when he knew that sinister forces were at play here; muddling everything and making it so he had to pick out what was real among the lies.

"Of course I do," Kyle replied, his eyes pulsing bright red like a heartbeat as the words left his lips.

Swiftly, Craig pushed aside their plates so he could reach across the table and take both of Kyle's hands into his own; his whole body shaking with a deep, unspoken need.

"No, I mean, do you really love me?" He asked, desperation warping his voice and making it foreign to his ears. "Look into your heart, Kyle, okay? I really need you to think about your answer before you give it to me. Can you do that?"

Kyle nodded slowly as he studied Craig, his fiery eyes still blazing as bit by bit the green beat back the embers. Once again, the scarlet drenched the circumference of his irises, but Craig could see clarity instilling itself back into his face, and he begged silently that it would stay long enough so he could hear Kyle's true thoughts. Silence descended on the table as Kyle considered Craig's question, but finally he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, his face awash with confusion.

"I don't know what you want from me right now," he said, his voice trembling.

"Kyle, I've loved you ever since we were both 14," Craig said, hands still clasped around Kyle's. "I need to know whether or not there was ever a time you loved me? In all these years? Did you ever even consider it?"

"Craig, I do love you," Kyle began, his blood and seawater eyes fiercely bright. "I always have, because you're my best friend. I thought you knew that."

Craig let out a breath as he clenched Kyle's hands so tightly the redhead cried out, his face scrunched up with pain. Willing himself to stay calm, he loosened his hold but he was still finding it hard to keep in control.

"No, I mean, did you ever once, on your own, think of me the way you thought of Stan?"

"Stan?" Kyle asked, his eyebrows raising a little. Craig could see that faraway sadness rising in his eyes again, almost like whatever was left of the real Kyle was standing on a cliff overlooking the sea and crying out to be heard; but his voice was decimated and shredded before it reached the neighboring shore.

"Stan was there, too," he said, his voice faint. "In my dream or whatever it was, but he disappeared when Damien appeared...but I'm pretty sure it was always Damien, wasn't it? But it smelled like him, just like him." He pulled one of his hands away and ran it through his hair, his expression floundering as his conflicted mind worked tirelessly. Shaking his head, he stared at Craig and he realized that Kyle had never looked more broken and lost; practically falling apart in front of him.

"You never did, huh?" He asked, his voice bitter as a coldness swept over him. "You never loved me like that; like Stan." Craig spit out the name like poison, and the hatred was overtaking him as he envisioned taking care of that obstacle once and for all.

"I think I considered it, once," Kyle said, breaking into his thoughts.

Craig's head shot up, his blood singing in his ears at the sound of those words.

"Really?"

Kyle nodded slowly, his face serious.

"Stan and I had a fight about something, and I can remember comparing him to you, how you always made me feel safe and happy and, well, loved." He shrugged. "Most people don't realize this, Craig, but you're actually very easy to love. Did you know that?"

Craig grunted, hardly able to believe that statement; he knew himself far too well.

"You are," Kyle smiled, lovingly. "Once I got past your thorns I discovered you're really sweet and kind, and, yes, I've always loved you for that. But," he continued, looking away. "I'm sorry, I can't say I ever felt romantically for you in the past. The thought would pass my mind but I just couldn't pursue it, you know? I mean, maybe if Stan had never -"

"I get it, Kyle," Craig cut him off, a million daggers slicing up his heart like a Christmas ham. "If Stan had never been in the fucking picture, I might have had a chance. Right."

"It's just always been him," Kyle whispered. "I can't even really remember a time when I didn't love him, even now -"

Craig cut him off again by slamming his fist down on the table.

"You told me this morning that you were going to forget about him. You fucking said that; don't deny it now."

"No, I told you I love you and that you're all I need," Kyle corrected him, slowly. "That doesn't mean that I don't love Stan anymore, Craig. How can I turn my back on something I've felt for almost my entire life?"

"Why the fuck do you love him at all?" Craig practically yelled, finally asking the question that had been burning on his tongue for years. "I've been trying to figure it out for years and I just don't understand; I never have! Why him, Kyle? Can you even tell me?!"

Kyle was still for a moment, and his lack of movement made him seem like a deer waiting to be shot by a hunter; afraid and frozen as he stared at Craig. Slowly, he came back to himself and an almost dreamy quality came over his features.

"Love just creeps up on you. It doesn't ask you to open the door, it breaks it down and forces you to deal with the fallout whether you want to or not." His eyes flitted up to meet Craig's as he smiled slowly. "Does that sound familiar?"

Craig shook his head, even though the words did have a ring that seemed to echo from years ago.

"That's what you told me when you were talking about Tweek," Kyle said. "I've always remembered that, because that's how it happened with Stan. It's almost like you just wake up one morning and you're in love; it blindsides you." He toyed with a fork as he sunk into a whimsical expression, eyes faraway and remembering. "Stan was always there for me, you know? He took care of me and he tried to understand me, and even when we didn't see eye to eye he just accepted me. I think that's what ultimately did it, actually; his ability to just take me for what I was. That's all I ever wanted and needed, and he gave me that."

"Yeah, that's why he fucking turned his back on you after you told him you were gay," Craig snapped, fighting back waves of guilt at Kyle's words. The scarlet bottle came to mind even as he spoke, how he'd made a deal with a demon in order to alter Kyle just enough to give him a chance. God, he hated himself in that moment, even though he would've done it again if given the chance; there was no turning back now. What was done was done, even though the guilt would eat away at him; he would never feel an ounce of regret. Fate had forced his hand and he'd snatched up his chance; wasn't that what life was all about?

"He was just scared, Craig," Kyle said, still fiddling with the fork; tapping it methodically against his water glass. "Stan has never been good with change, and besides, he eventually came to me on his own and apologized, right?"

"Bullshit," Craig seethed, voice drenched in bitterness. "He got his shit together because I fucking told him to, Kyle."

"What?" Kyle asked, setting the fork down quickly; the metal making a tiny thud against the tablecloth.

"Yeah, Kyle. I told Stan to fucking grow up and go and talk to you, because he was hurting you," Craig said, looking down. "Because I fucking loved you. Okay?"

"Craig, why didn't you ever -"

"Enough," Craig said, holding up his hand; thoroughly done with this conversation. Christ, he was just fucking done with emotions and bullshit for the moment; completely saturated while feeling wrung out at the same time. "I don't want to talk about Stan anymore. He's going to be a nonissue soon enough anyway."

Kyle started to open his mouth but Craig gave him a look of warning, making him sink back into himself. Clearing his throat, Craig slid Kyle's plate of food back in front of him and picked up his fork. Handing it to him, he instructed him to eat, which Kyle obediently did without question. Leaning back in his chair, Craig studied Kyle as he mechanically ate, his delicate fingers holding the fork and bringing the food to his mouth; chewing and swallowing while that blank look slid through his eyes. Scarlet wavered on the edges of green, never fading completely now, and Craig was beginning to have an inkling of understanding.

"It's crazy to think that you can be a stranger to yourself," he remarked, idly. He picked up his glass of wine and took a slow sip, his mind whirring and clicking as the lay of the land clicked into place.

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked, continuing to eat; his plate almost halfway empty.

"You just never realize what's in your heart until it's too late," Craig said, the wine resting on his tongue and drenching it in its dark flavor. "But I'm starting to see the truth."

"Oh?"

He nodded.

"Yes," he said, simply. "And so will you."

Craig continued to watch Kyle as he ate, dark musings and desires stirring in his brain like insidious vapor. He'd deluded himself into thinking that the foundation for all of this had been resting on Kyle's hidden love for him, but no, that had been foolish; completely idiotic. In some small part of himself, he had hoped that using Damien's elixir would just help to awaken a love Kyle had always harbored but could never articulate, but now the writing was on the wall; blood red and weeping. His heart ached that it had come to this, to force after all, but Craig had decided ages ago that to love Kyle and be loved by him in return was all he wanted and needed. What did it matter how it came to be so long as it did? He had Kyle in his palms and he loved him, just him, and all it would take to push him over the edge was eradicating Stan, which he had every intention of doing once he'd spoken with Damien; to understand a few more unknowns. But then, then...it would all be over, and their future could be forged in blood while Kyle continued to be reborn in fire.

"Kyle, who do you love?" He asked, setting his glass down and admiring the way it sparkled in the candlelight.

Kyle looked up and his eyes glowed, tremulous garnets lost in tides of fire.

"You, Craig. I love you."

"Is this the place? Are you sure?"

Kenny glanced at the business card and nodded his head, clear, blue eyes somber; registering faint hysteria.

"Yep," he replied, looking skyward at the imposing structure. "It figures Damien would have an office in the most ridiculous building in town. Like South Park really needs a fucking skyscraper anyway."

Stan rolled his eyes and shut off the car, his hands lingering on his seat belt as he tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

"This is hardly a skyscraper, Kenny," he replied, looking out the window as well. "You're talking about it like it's the fucking Burj Khalifa or something."

Kenny stared at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Burj Khalifa?" He asked. "The fuck?"

"Dude, it's only the tallest fucking building in the entire world," he explained.

Kenny just continued to stare at him blankly, both eyebrows raised now.

"In Dubai?"

Kenny shrugged.

"Doesn't ring a bell, dude."

"God, will you fucking educate yourself already?" He scoffed, unsnapping his seat belt finally.

"Oh, that's rich, Stan. I can fix luxury cars blindfolded and you can barely change your oil, but I'm the one that needs to educate myself?" Kenny asked, unbuckling as well and swinging the door open. "Besides, I bet you just looked that shit up on Google. Any ass hat can do that."

"Oh, shove it," Stan replied, climbing out of the car and contemplating the building stretching toward the swiftly darkening sky; scores of stars gently coming to life. "So, are you going to tell me who the hell this Damien jerk is, or are you just going to act a fool?"

"I would've told you who he was already if you hadn't freaked out and dragged us over here after finding all that creepy shit in Tucker's room," Kenny replied, jamming his hands in his pockets. "You didn't really give me an opportunity to explain, you know."

"Well, I'm listening now, so out with it," Stan snapped, leaning against the car, his thoughts straying back to the monumentally disturbing paraphernalia they'd found in Craig's room; the mountains of photographs with his boyfriend as the prime subject. He never could've known that Craig's obsession went so deep, and had been festering as a quiet illness for years, and all of them being none the wiser. Just the thought of those albums was enough to make him shudder, his blood running a little colder in his veins.

"You know, it always amazes me that no one else remembers this dude except for me," Kenny mused, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Shaking one out, he handed it to Stan, who gave him a look of exasperation.

"I'm trying to quit, dude. You know that."

"Trust me, you're going to need it," Kenny said, pulling out a lighter and flicking it on. He lit up both of their smokes and took a long drag, the smoke escaping from the corner of his mouth.

Stan inhaled deeply and eyed Kenny, the smoke filtering between them and making his eyes water.

"What do you mean no one else remembers him? Have I met this guy before?"

"Yes, a long time ago," Kenny said, flicking some ash away. "When we were kids. In fact, we were still in Garrison's class."

"Oh, Jesus, that fucking weirdo," Stan commented, rolling his eyes.

"Right? Anyway, I've noticed that no one else remembers this guy, and I'm like, seriously? How is that possible? You'd think everyone would kind of remember meeting the antichrist, but -"

"Wait, what?" Stan broke in, his fingers squeezing the cigarette like he was trying to strangle it. "The antichrist? Kenny, dude, you seriously need to lay off the weed."

Kenny rubbed a hand across his mouth in exasperation and sighed.

"First of all, no, I don't, and secondly, I'm not joking, Stan. This dude, this Damien Thorn? He's the honest to God fucking antichrist, the son of Satan, the goddamn Deceiver. Why the fuck would I lie about that? Huh?"

"Kenny, I know you're prone to, shall we say, flights of fancy and imagination, but -"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Stan. Okay?" Kenny barked, stubbing his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. "I know what I'm talking about right now, and if you don't get your head out of your ass and listen to me, you're screwed, understand? Besides, Kyle's depending on you, on us, and you being a fucking doubting Thomas right now isn't helping anyone!"

Stan took a long, tremulous drag on his cigarette and stared at Kenny, and he couldn't remember ever seeing his friend so serious, so sure, and he could feel himself bending; not completely, but enough to at least entertain the possibility of what he was being told.

"Fine, so, why do you remember him and no one else does? Huh?" He asked, smoke streaming past his lips.

"Okay, my reasons are really something we're going to have to unpack another day, but trust me, I've seen him in action and this dude does not fuck around. Spells, fire," he broke off, groping for another word to use, "pillaging, this guy fucking does it all, man."

"Pillaging? Seriously? What, is this dude a Viking or something?" Stan asked, laughing a little at the choice of words; at the absurdity of the conversation they were having, really.

"Stan," Kenny said, a warning note in his voice.

"Sorry, sorry. Just fucking go on."

"Anyway, he has the capability of destroying someone with a look, with a word, and I'm almost certain that Tucker went to him for help with something." Kenny looked at Stan and now he could see the real worry in his face, changing his usual carefree manner into something else entirely. "Why else would he have his business card? And why else would Kyle be acting so weird?"

"This shit is just getting too bizarre, dude," Stan replied. "I mean, I just thought Craig was fucking nuts, but now you're throwing Satanic shit into the mix. What the fuck is even going on anymore?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Kenny said, looking helplessly up at the building. "I just wanted to know what you're getting ready to walk into."

"Well, thanks, but I still have no idea how to deal with any of this. I mean, if you're for real, and this dude is the fucking son of Satan, there's nothing I could do to defend myself anyway. Right?"

"Probably not, but knowledge is power, isn't it?" Kenny said, slowly walking toward the entry of the building; Stan following suit.

"Yeah, that's why I keep telling you to educate yourself," Stan smirked, his heart thudding in his chest as they drew closer and closer to what could possibly be the belly of the beast. For all he knew, they were willingly walking into their own doom, but he shook this thought away.

 _If I can help Kyle, this will all be worth it,_ he thought. _I just hope I'm not already too late._

When they made their way to the topmost floor of the building, they stepped into an antechamber that resembled a waiting room in a doctor's office: plush, scarlet chairs scattered hither and yon and a receptionist's desk scattered over with office supplies; coffee tables covered with magazines and nondescript paintings on the walls.

"What the fuck is this?" Kenny whispered, looking around. "Why the hell would Damien need a waiting room? Or an office, for that matter?"

"I really don't think it does any good to try and make sense of the antichrist, Kenny," Stan replied, softly; his eyes darting around the room and falling on a slightly opened door across the way. A shard of light fell through the crack in the door and across the carpet, and he thought he could hear faint voices coming from inside; tiny rustlings in the silence. "Come on," he instructed, pulling Kenny along behind him.

Drawing closer to the door, Stan reached out a trembling hand to push on it, stopping only for a moment to glance at Kenny.

"Let's do it," Kenny said, nodding his head.

Taking a deep breath and praying for courage, Stan pushed on the door, and it swung open on creaky hinges. Once inside, they were assaulted with a very unsettling display.

Damien had a blonde haired boy bent over his large, cherry desk, his hands grasping at the wood as he moaned and gasped; the dark haired gentleman thrusting into him with hard, fast pulses of his hips. Clawed hands were clutched around pink-white skin, the nails digging in and drawing rivers of blood that coursed over trembling thighs. Glancing up, Damien caught Stan's eyes and he smirked, curved canines digging into thin, nearly bloodless lips.

"Mm, we have visitors, darling," he purred, giving the boy one last, brutal thrust before pulling out and closing up his pants. One elegant hand drifted to his head and he righted his hair, which gleamed blackly under the lights falling from pearl and carmine studded sconces. "I guess we'll have to finish this later," he continued, glancing at the interlopers standing in his office. "After all, it would be rude to keep my guests waiting. Wouldn't it?"

The blonde haired boy continued to gasp as he straightened up, completely naked and exposed to Stan and Kenny, who stared at him in utter shock; slow realizations dawning on them at the same time.

"Pip?" They asked in unison and then glanced at each other, their mouths wide open; faces disbelieving.

"Gentlemen," Pip said, his blue eyes blank and lost; his voice coming across as extremely breakable. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Walking over, Damien caressed Pip's face for a moment before he backhanded him; the blonde falling to the floor and staying there, not even bothering to lift his head.

"I didn't tell you you could speak, did I?" Damien asked, going and sitting on the edge of his desk and crossing his arms.

"N-no," Pip murmured, rubbing at his face as his shoulders trembled slightly. "I'm sorry, Master; I forgot myself."

"Darling, you forgot yourself long ago," Damien smirked. "Go and clean yourself up. Now."

Quickly, Pip scampered up from the floor and rushed out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. Feeling nauseated, Stan had managed to steal a look at his face and could see bright blood pouring from his mouth, but his eyes had never changed; they'd stayed dazed and slack, almost sightless.

"It's so hard to keep pets in line when they're off their leash," Damien sighed, his cold, gore-colored eyes coming to rest on Stan's again. "So, what can I do for you _gentlemen_?" He asked, sneering as he exaggerated the word. After a moment, his gaze settled on Kenny and he smiled brightly; only serving to reinforce Stan's sudden nausea.

"McCormick? It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Stan looked at Kenny, whose eyes were trained on Damien as his hands clenched slowly into fists at his sides. His face was grim, his whole stance suggesting that he wouldn't mind punching Damien in his smarmy face.

"I guess it has," he finally said, his voice low.

"I imagine you'll be passing through again before too long," Damien said, a finger coming to rest on his bottom lip; a long talon rubbing it lightly. Without turning his head, his eyes skittered back to Stan, and his smile grew larger; calling to mind close-up photos of black spiders, their chelicerae parting as they prepared to feast on their prey.

"Stanley Marsh. It's so nice to see you again after all these years," he said, his voice oily; fairly dripping from his mouth. "I've heard so much about you, after all."

"Let me guess," Kenny interjected, his voice shaking with rage. "From Tucker, right?"

"Now, how did you ever guess that?" He asked, amusement flaring into life on his face and making him look positively grotesque. Dark humor was evident in his mannerisms, and Stan got the impression he was positively elated at the notion of getting to toy with them.

Finally, he found his voice, having always kind of blanked out during stressful situations, but willing himself to fucking stay strong and fight; for Kyle's sake.

"I want to know what the fuck was in this," he spat, pulling the scarlet bottle from his pocket and holding it up for Damien to see. "You gave it to Craig, right?"

Damien cocked an eyebrow and contemplated the bottle, autopsy eyes sliding down it slowly and deliberately.

"Maybe, but how did you come to that conclusion?"

"We have a fucking history, Damien," Kenny said, his voice tight. "That bottle has your stench all over it, not to mention your fucking business card was right next to it in Tucker's nightstand."

Damien rubbed his temple and sighed a little.

"Mortals, I swear," he said. "Always holding onto things that no longer serve any purpose; useless, sentimental fools."

"I've noticed you at the bar, too," Stan said, spitting out the words. "You're always talking to Craig, and I've known him for a long time; he doesn't talk to anyone without a reason."

"He is a tight-lipped little bastard, isn't he?" Damien mused. Standing, he drifted elegantly over to Stan, his hand languidly reaching for the bottle and taking it between his fingers; the glass beginning to glow softly. After a moment, it throbbed like a beating heart and then it disappeared, red vapor hanging in the air for just a moment in its absence. "Yes," he said, shrugging a little. "I gave Tucker the bottle. So?"

"So? What was fucking inside of it?!" Stan yelled, his face defiant as he stared up at Damien, who suddenly seemed miles tall; dressed all in black and deceptively handsome. "I saw Craig pour something into Kyle's drink, and it came from that bottle! What the fuck was it?!"

"Would you believe me if I told you it was a love potion?" Damien asked, snickering now; one clawed hand coming to settle on his mouth as he laughed.

"Why, you dirty son of a -" Kenny started to say, but Damien snapped his fingers; a blast of energy making him rise from the floor and hurling him against the wall.

"Watch your mouth, sunshine," Damien chastised, wagging his finger as Stan hurried to help Kenny up.

"Are you okay, dude?" Stan asked, frantically.

"I'll live," Kenny muttered, getting to his feet and dusting off his clothes. "That was a dick move, Damien."

"Maybe from where you're standing," Damien replied, going back to his desk and sitting down; looking increasingly bored.

Drawing forward, Stan approached Damien, his entire body wracked with fear and anger and sadness; really, too much to deal with all at once. His voice broke as he tried to appeal to him.

"Please, just tell me what he gave Kyle. I want to help him, and I can't if you wont...if you won't..."

"As appetizing as your begging is, give it a rest," Damien said, his face impassive. "Tucker wanted something to help his chances. So I gave it to him. It's all very simple, really."

"Help his chances?" Kenny asked, limping up beside Stan.

"What can I say? Love makes people do stupid things," Damien replied, examining his claws. "That's why I never dabble in it; it's far too messy."

"Are you telling me I helped Craig feed Kyle something that would warp his mind and make him fall in love with him?!" Stan shrieked, his hands raking through his hair in agony. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Hmm, I'm afraid not, kiddo," Damien purred, sudden interest igniting in his features. "So, he had you serve it to the little cherub? How horribly delightful; that was truly a nice touch."

"Cherub?" Kenny asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Pet name," Damien grinned. "Really, I could hardly blame the moron; that little redhead is delicious, and I should know." He lifted a finger to his mouth and chewed on a claw, his eyes glimmering richly like twin pools of merlot. "I've had a little taste myself."

"I saw what you did to his back, you dirty prick," Stan seethed. "You make me sick."

"Oh, I've done so much more, but I won't bore you with the details," Damien said, waving the idea away. "However, I can shed some light on just how far gone our little cherub is, if you'd like."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, suspiciously.

Pure malice poured across Damien's face as he snapped his fingers yet again, a shimmery portal opening up in front of all of them.

"Take a look," he said, pointing at it. "It's a very interesting show, I watch it all the time."

Stan glanced at Kenny for a moment before they reluctantly came closer, their eyes drawn to the wavery structure as it hung suspended in the air. Looking inside, he recoiled at what he saw, and he cut his eyes to Damien, his entire being filled with raw fury.

"What the fuck is this?!"

"Shhh," Damien said, placing his finger in front his lips. "Just watch; it gets so much better."

Tearing his eyes away from the demon's cruel countenance, Stan looked into the portal again, his heart threatening to explode in his chest at the horror in front of him. As he watched, he could feel himself steadily unraveling, and he wanted to cry and scream at the same time. Vaguely, he could feel Kenny putting his hand on his shoulder and squeezing softly, reminding him that he wasn't alone and didn't need to suffer through this alone, but still...

With disbelieving eyes, Stan saw Craig thrusting into a gasping, writhing Kyle, his eyes hellish red and blank; his hands clutching at the blankets on Craig's bed as he cried out his name, over and over. Craig seemed to be taking his time, his hips methodically rolling in careful strokes as he drove into Kyle, his hands tangling in his wild curls as he lapped at Kyle's neck; soft grunts spilling from his mouth on occasion.

"How does that feel?" Craig asked, his hands trailing down Kyle's sides and hiking up his hips a little. "Do you like it?"

Kyle seemed to shudder under Craig, and he was choking out a strangled little "yes" as Craig lifted his hips and opened him up wider; his hands settling on Kyle's backside.

"Tell me you love me," Craig instructed, his hands squeezing and digging into porcelain flesh.

"No, Kyle would never say that," Stan whispered, his whole world falling apart in front of him; every kiss and movement effectively destroying his heart. "Kyle doesn't love Craig; he can't."

"I-I love you," Kyle said, his voice hesitant as he spoke those cruel, horrible words; driving a knife straight through Stan's core, making him stagger and fall back.

"No more, please," Stan sobbed out, collapsing to his knees as tears fell from his face; eyes wide and seeing nothing. He was lost in a world of agony, and Damien was cruel; allowing the portal to linger for a few moments longer so he could continue to listen to Kyle being violated by Craig.

Waving the hateful vision away, Damien came and knelt next to Stan, who managed to lift his face; his entire body rife with unimaginable pain.

"It isn't true," Stan whispered. "It can't be; you just made that up to fuck with me."

Damien shook his head and almost looked regretful for a moment, but then the malevolence was back; dark humor making his bloodied eyes a nightmare.

"It's happening right now, as we speak, and it will continue to happen. Unless you intercede, of course."

"You mean, I can get him back? But Craig gave him that poison. How -"

"He's still fighting," Damien said, softly. "The cherub is falling and breaking but he's on the edge, Stan. Most of him has shattered, but there's enough pieces still in place that you have a chance."

"R-really?" Stan asked, his throat thick with tears and mucus.

Damien nodded, sharp teeth drawing back into a serial killer smile.

"You're too deep in his blood for my influence to conquer it completely," he explained. "I guess that's the power of true love, huh?" Damien shook his head, disdain distorting his features. "Kyle's soul is actively being torn in two, so, really, this could go either way."

"What can I do?" Stan asked, his heart filling with an uneasy hope.

"Kill Tucker," Damien replied, simply. "Right now, Kyle's in limbo; he's being pulled in two directions. You need to be the deciding factor and tip the scales in your favor."

"You can't possibly be serious," Kenny interjected, coming over and putting his arm around Stan's shoulders. "There's no way Stan could murder someone, Damien. You're out of your fucking mind."

"Maybe so," Damien shrugged. "However, you should be aware that Tucker has pretty much already made up _his_ mind."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, deep fear pooling in his belly as the demon regarded him.

Damien stood and leaned against his desk, arms crossed as his eyes began to glow like crimson bloodshed; that murderer's smile snaking across his face and growing exponentially.

"He's coming for you, Stan; very soon."

Kyle had tried so desperately to stay awake but he'd lost the fight. After Craig had insisted on having sex before bed, Kyle had lay in the darkness and listened to his breaths as they became deeper and slower, until finally he had to admit he was alone; the red numbers on the clock glowing and telling him it was well past midnight. He had told himself that he would only close his eyes a moment to rest them, but when he'd finally succumbed and allowed his burning, aching eyelids to drop, he'd blinked them rapidly apart to find himself in a foreign land; lost and afraid.

Looking around, Kyle saw that he was stranded in acres upon acres of glowing daffodils, their buttery petals stretching for miles against a sharp blue sky. Rising slowly from his place, Kyle tried to lift his t-shirt so both of his shoulders were covered, but it drooped down again; Craig's clothes being far too large for him. More than ever, he felt so small and vulnerable as he slowly walked through the fields of bright, yellow flowers; his bare feet pressing into soft soil. He had enough presence of mind to know that he was in a vision of Damien's making, and every muscle in his body was taut and ready; fear waking up his blood and making it burn in his veins.

Vaguely, Kyle thought he could hear a faint melody drifting on a breeze resplendent with the scent of the flowers surrounding him, and he cocked his head a little; listening expectantly.

"Piano music," he said, his words carrying on the winds and floating away; a stray red curl falling across his eyes. Pushing it away, he continued to listen. Slowly, he started walking in the direction of the music, his body parting a multitude of fragrant daffodils; their scent filling him up and taking him back to the past.

His gaze drifted skyward and Kyle couldn't help but smile a little as bright sunshine cascaded down on top of him, the sky such a vivid electric blue that he almost got the impression he could carve a slice out of it. It arced overhead and sparkled on occasion, the effect making it seem like a huge slab of sweet hard candy. For a moment, he almost felt like he was getting lost in an endless summer day, the piano music filling his ears and leading him onward; flowers stretching for miles and wrapping him up in sunshine.

After some time passed, he became aware of a structure resting on the horizon, and as he continued to walk, it started to take on dimension and depth. When he had walked for perhaps half an hour, he could plainly see that it was a house; modest and small, and sparking a memory deep in his brain. After walking for a little while longer, he suddenly realized that he was coming upon Craig's childhood home; he'd know that green door anywhere, the brown paint glowing in the light of the sun. Tensing up, he stole closer until he was standing in the front yard, the house an island in a sea of whispering, softly fluttering flowers. The piano music was very loud now as it poured from an open front window, and Kyle recognized the muslin curtains wafting in the wind; the same ones Mrs. Tucker had hung years ago.

Apprehension flooded Kyle as he made his way to the front door, his feet dragging in the soft grass as he contemplated the house. On some level, he knew that Damien had deliberately led him here, but why? The Tuckers had sold this house years ago and moved to Denver, even though Craig had decided to stay behind in South Park, so what was the point? What was there to see? Reaching out, he touched the cool doorknob and twisted it slightly, the door swinging open on creaking hinges. A quiet, unspoken terror bloomed in Kyle's mind as he looked into the house and he almost turned to run, but there was nowhere to go, and he knew in his heart that Damien would find him wherever he went so long as he was trapped in one of his visions.

Walking into the house on trembling feet, Kyle could feel the years melting away as he glanced around the old Tucker house. Everything was exactly as he remembered it from ages ago, right down to the pictures on the walls and the knickknacks on the hall table; an old cuckoo clock tick tick ticking the minutes away as they died one by one. His finger strayed over an old school photo of Craig hanging in the entryway as he wandered into the living room, where Craig's piano still sat; pressed against the wall as its music poured into the air. Eyes widening, Kyle watched as the keys pressed down of their own accord, the bench in front completely empty; the entire room bereft of anyone.

A shiver passed through him as he turned away, and he hurriedly rushed from the room and up those old familiar stairs; childhood portraits of Craig and his little sister adorning the wall as he ascended. The floorboards were cool under his feet as he passed through the dust of so many years, and before he knew it Kyle found himself at the door of Craig's old room. He hesitated for a moment before he pushed the door open, and gasped when he stepped inside. Teenage Craig was there, kneeling on the floor and surrounded by hundreds of photographs, which he was meticulously placing in a photo album; one of many stacked at his side.

"God, Craig, I'm so sorry! I should've -" Kyle started to say, but then he stopped. Even though he had spoken Craig didn't even look up, and he continued to tirelessly work on the photos, a pair of silver shears clutched in one hand. Coming closer, Kyle glanced down at the pictures and a feeling of cold fear passed through him when he saw that every single one was of him, hundreds spread over the floor and mocking him. Most of them had been cut, though, and the fear only increased when he saw that Stan had once been in the pictures too, but he'd been cut out; the bits littering the floor and drenched in blood. Glancing quickly back at Craig, Kyle saw that the scissors were glazed with blood now too, and the photo he was actively cutting dripped gore, but he didn't seem to notice; his face serene and still as he worked.

"How does it feel knowing you played a part in completely destroying someone?" A dark voice asked suddenly, startling Kyle as he backed up from the blood spreading across the floor. Looking up, he saw Damien perched on Craig's bed and smiling at him, his head cradled in one hand.

"W-what are you talking about?" Kyle asked, nausea creeping up his throat as Craig continued to hack at the photos; stopping at one point to bring a photo to his lips so he could kiss it, drenching his mouth in scarlet.

"Look around you, cherub," Damien smirked. "Look at all of this devastation. Years and years worth of misery, while you were happy and content with Stan." He laughed. "And to think, you never even noticed, and I thought Tucker was supposed to be your _best friend_ ," he sneered.

"Craig is my best friend," Kyle choked out as Damien's cruel words washed over him in acidic waves. "I didn't know! He never told me!"

"How could he when you were so wrapped up in your one true love?" Damien asked, standing up and coming toward him; slim limbs relaxed but ready to strike at any given moment. "Would you have even listened?"

"Of course I would have, and I'm listening to him now, aren't I?" Kyle cried out, backing away. "I even told him I loved him!"

"But do you mean it?" Damien asked, backing him up against the wall and drifting a clawed finger over his heart. "In here?"

"I-I don't know," Kyle gasped, the fire building in his veins as the blood continued traveling across the floor, staining his bare feet red. "I want to, but -"

"But Stan is already there, isn't he; in your heart? All curled up and sleeping for now, but he's there," Damien murmured. "There's only room for one, cherub, and Craig has never had a chance." Leaning forward, he kissed Kyle's forehead, his cold lips lingering for a moment as he sighed. "You're being ripped apart, even as I look at you. Can you feel it?"

"Just leave me alone," Kyle begged, tears falling from his eyes now. "Please!"

An agonizing, searing pain was tearing through Kyle's chest as he leaned against the wall; Damien pressed against him and cupping his face in his awful hands. It was almost like his heart was being drawn up in two hands and being wrenched apart, the fibers tearing and splitting as it frantically beat in his chest; forcing fire and shards of glass through Kyle's body. Through the fog of pain and fear, Kyle became aware of Damien's lips coming to rest on his own, and he pulled away in revulsion.

"No! STOP!" He yelled, pushing Damien away and running from the room; his feet squelching through blood and almost making him slip. Racing down the stairs, he tried to run through the front door but Damien appeared and cut off his path, forcing him to turn tail and make a break for the kitchen; his feet leaving tracks of crimson everywhere he went.

Entering the room, Kyle started tearing through drawers and cabinets, desperately trying to find a weapon to protect himself with as tears poured from his eyes; almost blinding him. The only thing he could find though were hundreds and hundreds of tiny scarlet bottles, the sunlight falling through the windows illuminating them and making them glow bright; their vivid sparkle dazzling Kyle's eyes. Crying out in frustration, he looked around for another exit, and suddenly he remembered the patio doors; his feet carrying him through the dining room and over to them. Ripping the door open, he ran out into the backyard and saw that there was no fence, and instead of miles of daffodils the house was now surrounded by a vast ocean of red roses; glowing like a sea of blood and stretching away forever toward the horizon.

"How...how...," he breathed, whipping his head around. On every side the roses bloomed, and even from his place Kyle could see their wicked thorns, sharp and glinting in the sun.

Quiet footsteps behind Kyle made him turn, and there was Damien, advancing on him and licking his lips; his fangs even sharper than the rose's thorns. With a strangled cry, Kyle launched himself forward and straight into the field of roses, his feet and legs immediately on fire from the thorns tearing into his skin, his thin shirt ripped to shreds as he passed through; every footfall agony as the keen points gouged into him. Sobbing, he prayed for deliverance as he ran, his breath hitching in his throat as the tears fell; his hands catching on wayward barbs and tiny bits of flesh promptly torn away. Blood splattered on what remained of his shirt as he broke through the flowers, but all at once he felt himself being pushed from behind, and he was falling headlong into the rose's fragrance; more thorns breaking the skin of his face until he tasted the blood on his lips.

Feeling faint, Kyle turned over and came face to face with a nightmare incarnate, and Damien was upon him; soft, black hair glowing in the still-bright sun as the blue sky opened up above them. Struggling sluggishly, Kyle felt his wrists being captured in the demon's hands and pressed against the roses. A warm wetness lapped against his face and Kyle knew that Damien was licking up the blood trailing there, and he cried and cried; his tears falling and watering the flowers beneath him.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked, tiredly. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I'm just taking what I'm due, cherub," Damien replied, kissing at his neck tenderly before sinking his fangs in; eliciting a scream of protest from his redheaded captive. "I'm finally starting to collect my payment."

"P-payment for what?" Kyle gasped out, and he could feel Damien spreading his thighs; their softness being pushed into more thorns. Pain lanced through him as a cold, clawed finger opened him up, tearing through and ripping away what little innocence he still had left.

"Ask Tucker," Damien smiled, continuing to prepare Kyle as the rose's thorns ripped at his already decimated back. "It's his debt you're paying after all."

"That isn't true!" Kyle sobbed, his vision fading slightly as he felt Damien ripping out of him. "Craig would never, he'd never -"

"Sacrifice you to get what he wants? Are you sure?" Damien asked, and now he was poised at Kyle's entrance and pushing in, inch by agonizing inch.

"NO!" Kyle screamed, arching upward and trying to throw Damien off, but to no avail. "STOP! HELP! I NEED TO -"

A hand slammed down on Kyle's mouth, silencing him, and then Damien was jerking his hips until -

"Shhh," he whispered, still holding his hand against Kyle's mouth, but now no sound was coming out; his dazed eyes wide and unfocused as he contemplated the blue heavens.

 _This can't be happening,_ he thought, his mind drifting away as Damien thrust into him; the sensation like being penetrated by scalding hot metal. _No, I'll just wake up any moment, and Stan will be there, and we'll -_

"No, cherub," Damien purred against his throat, his hips speeding up their rhythm. "I'm not letting you wake up until I'm finished, I can promise you that."

A humming sound seemed to fill up Kyle's brain as he continued to drift listlessly, his whole body awash in agony as Damien raped him in a field of red roses. For a moment, it was almost like he could float over himself and see the atrocities violating his quivering, spent body, but he quickly pushed the thought away, and Damien's presence seemed to take over the entire world; his blackness spreading out forever and ever as he blotted out the blue sky and sunshine.

"Why don't you sing yourself a little song to help you through?" Damien suggested, his hands once again gripping Kyle's wrists until the bones ached. "I even have a suggestion."

Shutting his eyes against the chaos ravaging his body, Kyle felt himself completely coming apart as the demon began to sing, because it was a song that he had once enjoyed, but now it went up in flames; just like everything else:

 _"So close your eyes, you can close your eyes, it's all right..."_

Craig woke up and something immediately felt off, even though everything seemed to be in order. The moonlight, white and clean, was pouring through the windows and icing the room, the heat was running steadily and staving off the chill from outside, the room was hushed, and Kyle was curled up next to him under the blankets; deep breaths floating into the stillness. A nagging fear ran down Craig's backbone as he sat up, fatigue still resting in his eyes as he pushed the covers back, his eyes straying over to his beloved to bask in his beauty -

Icy unbridled terror broke over Craig as his eyes took in Kyle's destroyed form, his body covered over with deep and still bleeding wounds, his face coated in blood, his t-shirt all but tatters and leaving him almost completely naked. Throwing the blankets off the bed, Craig could see that the destruction went all the way to Kyle's feet, which were torn and leaking more blood; the red saturating the sheets and spreading quickly.

"Oh, my God, Kyle, baby," Craig whimpered, frantically stroking Kyle's slack face. "Baby, you have to wake up! Please!"

Kyle moaned softly but didn't stir, his breaths coming suddenly in raspy pants; eyes twitching under the lids rapidly. Deluged in fear, Craig gently turned Kyle onto his back and scooped him up, cradling him softly against his chest as tears started running down his face. Kyle felt so light in his arms and the moonlight glowed on his scarlet locks, turning him ethereal and pure; the caustic streaks of blood sharp against his once beautiful skin. Rising, Craig quickly carried Kyle into the living room and lay him on the couch, his mind whirring with rage and a horrible pervasive sadness that left him trembling. Dropping a feather-light kiss on Kyle's bleeding mouth, Craig ran to the bathroom and grabbed as many washcloths as he could and threw them into the sink; warm water quickly saturating them as Craig studied himself in the mirror, grey eyes wild-bright and lost.

Gathering up the cloths as well as the first aid kit, Craig hurried back into the living room and quickly went to work cleaning up Kyle, who continued to sleep deeply; his delicate brows knitting together on occasion as Craig washed him down.

"That dirty son of a bitch," Craig seethed, as he poured peroxide onto a cloth. "He went too fucking far this time. I swear to God, I'll -"

"You'll what?" A musical voice broke through his violent musings with the gentility of an A-Bomb.

This time, Craig didn't allow his fear to show, and he didn't turn away from Kyle. Gritting his teeth, he dragged the peroxide-laden cloth across a jagged row of cuts marring Kyle's thigh.

"If I could, I'd fucking kill you," Craig spat. "In a fucking heartbeat, you disgusting jackal."

"I'm sure you would," the voice purred, coming closer. In a moment, Damien appeared behind the couch and draped his arms on top of it; his eyes drifting down to take in Kyle's shattered state. "He's even prettier when he's covered in blood, don't you think?"

Craig rose up and started around the couch, his fist clenched and just aching to smash through that taunting, handsome face.

"Uh uh uh, don't get any stupid ideas, prince charming," Damien said, wagging his finger; clearly not afraid at all. "You've seen some of my handiwork," he laughed, gesturing to Kyle. "Don't push your luck, okay?"

"Why?! Just fucking tell me why you keep terrorizing Kyle?!" He screamed. "If you need to hurt someone, hurt me!"

"Aren't I already doing that?" Damien asked, innocently. "You seem pretty hurt to me, all things considered, and I didn't even have to _touch_ you; fancy that." He smirked. "As for your other inquiry, it's very simple, really. I'm starting to collect on what you owe me, Tucker."

"You don't mean -"

"You're going to love this, but would you like to know why I don't discuss payment prior to making a deal? Hmm?" Damien asked, his tongue passing over his sharp canines.

"Why?"

"Because I like to wait and see what's most valuable to the person I'm helping, and then I get to pick and choose the best parts and just, pluck them away," he laughed, glancing over at Kyle stretched out on the couch. "I've told you before and I meant it, Tucker, you made a superb choice and I've only had a small taste of him so far. Just imagine what other delights are waiting for me with your little redheaded whore...my cherub...your Kyle," he hissed, his eyes gleeful as they drifted back to Kyle and rested there; devouring him as Craig watched in horror.

Craig sunk to his knees as Damien's words eroded his heart and soul, leaving him weightless and dead inside.

"But you were supposed to be helping me," he whispered. "I thought Kyle was going to be mine. I didn't do all this so he could be sacrificed to you as payment..."

"Oh, he can still be yours," Damien said, leaning against the wall. "It's just, well, Kyle's in limbo right now because he's being torn in two different directions. He doesn't belong to you and he certainly doesn't belong to Stan, so...do you know what that means?"

"What?" Craig asked, faintly.

"Until one of you makes a move, I'm going to continue visiting him like this, just like I said I would, but it goes so much deeper than that, Tucker." Walking over, he knelt in front of Craig and gripped his chin, his monstrous eyes glowing with all of the violence and fear in the whole world; dark and cold and filled with every horror imaginable.

"Do you want to know what else was in the potion I gave you?" He asked, softly. "Aside from your wee little drop of blood, of course."

Craig didn't answer as he felt all of the fight and fire evaporating inside of him.

"My blood, Tucker. My blood. I'm inside of your beloved all the time, and until he's claimed by you or Marsh, guess who he belongs to?" Damien asked, squeezing Craig's chin tighter until he winced.

"Me," he smiled. "So, you better get a move on, because time is running out for your little one. Don't you think?"

Notes: *Bond and Free - Robert Frost  
*You Can Close Your Eyes - James Taylor


	15. Chapter 15

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNING: Non-consensual sex! Please avoid if this is not your bag, okay?

Well, we're winding down now. In fact, this part was so long I felt compelled to split it into two parts. Hopefully, everyone enjoys. Me? Well, I'm a sentimental weirdo so this part was hard to write bc I hate seeing stories end. I get very attached to the characters, after all.

Anyway, here we go. Have fun, kiddies.

 **No more talk of darkness,**  
 **Forget these wide-eyed fears;**  
 **I'm here, nothing can harm you,**  
 **My words will warm and calm you.**

 **Let me be your freedom,**  
 **Let daylight dry your tears;**  
 **I'm here, with you, beside you,**  
 **To guard you and to guide you**

 **-All I Ask of You, Andrew Lloyd Webber**

* * *

 **8.75 Years Prior**

The music was pouring into him and filling him up until he almost floated; buoying him even as he fell apart.

Craig was held aloft on a tide of notes, each one washing over him and carrying him away to a gentler place; a place free of pain and bittersweet loss. As his deft fingers drifted over the keyboard the bright sunshine fell through the windows and drenched the room, and he couldn't help but hate it. He wasn't in the mood for a pretty day. In fact, he hadn't been in the mood for pretty days since late-September, when he'd visited Tweek's grave with Kyle. He knew it was macabre and completely nonsensical, but that was the last time he could remember feeling even an inkling of happiness; there in front of his dead lover's grave, his redhead at his side.

Things had changed since then, and Craig was still trying to process everything. He'd tried to remain stoic and reserved even as he suffered, but the effort was proving to be too much. His heart, which at one point had been on its way to being whole again, or at least functioning, was covered over with bleeding cracks that stung. Everyday was a challenge to crawl through, and when the sun finally went down and the moon rose, Craig got the impression that he'd spent the whole time dragging himself over broken glass and fire; every moment an exercise in torment.

And Kyle, his Kyle, didn't even seem to notice, because he was wrapped up in _him_ ; appearing so happy and carefree and healthy. Craig had watched from afar as the romance bloomed slowly in the autumn sun, their hands clasped in the hallways at school; shoulders brushing as they walked to their classes. He'd seen the first stilted kiss on the sidewalk outside of the school, Kyle's hair flashing red and fiery; copper highlights glowing like the leaves on the trees. Stan's hands had been awkwardly clenched on Kyle's delicate shoulders, his eyes scrunched up like he was in the process of getting a shot; pinched and nervous as his undeserving lips rested on paradise.

He had the evidence in his camera, of course, but he couldn't bring himself to print out the pictures yet and place them in his album. There were so many roads that Craig couldn't bear to walk down, and he kept asking himself why he took the pictures in the first place if they just served to torment him, but he couldn't stop; he just couldn't. It was like a train wreck in the making and he couldn't tear his eyes away; he needed to see the carnage unfold because it hurt more to be in the dark. If he could at least focus on his misery he wouldn't just disappear completely, but there were days where he could still feel himself fading away. Bit by bit he could almost feel himself dissolving as he watched through windows, hungry eyes following after happiness that proved to be completely out of his reach.

Craig was about to start a different song when he felt a softness on his shoulder and he turned, eyes wide and heart thudding as he broke from his thoughts. Kyle was standing there, his face serious, clad in his shamrock green jacket that made his hair even more striking.

"Kyle," he said, completely taken aback at his sudden presence. "What are you doing here?"

"I've missed you," Kyle replied, warm hand still resting on Craig's shoulder as his green eyes regarded him. "I feel like I never see you anymore."

"I wonder why that is," Craig said, turning away and flipping through the pages of a music book; heartbeat still on the rise and almost making him feel faint. "You're always busy these days."

 _With your fucking hound dog idiot of a boyfriend,_ he seethed inwardly, but his countenance remained calm and unruffled; composed.

Kyle's fingers tightened a little at these words, and he suddenly plunked himself down on the piano bench; practically sitting on Craig's lap and forcing him to give him room.

"You know that isn't true," he said, eyeing Craig's book of music. "I've called you so many times and you either don't pick up or you just blow me off."

"Hmm," Craig grunted, trying to downplay how badly his hands were starting to shake; Kyle's comforting apple scent washing over him and igniting his blood. "So you just took it upon yourself to stop by unannounced and uninvited, huh?"

Kyle snorted.

"Knock off the bullshit, Tucker," he said, raising his chin. "I have an open invitation to your house and you know it; desperate times call for desperate measures."

"These are hardly desperate times, you drama queen," Craig replied, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe not to you, but I actually get really bummed out when you close yourself off like this," Kyle said, softly. "I wanted to make sure you're okay, Craig; you're my best friend."

 _Best friend._ God, Craig was starting to fucking hate that term with a passion. It was so...tidy and friendly, so contained. It didn't open up the door for passion or love or anything he craved; it was a barrier that kept him firmly on one side of the fence, forced to look over in longing at much greener pastures.

"Well, you're here now, so what do you want?" He asked, finally choosing a song and laying the music book on the holder. Cracking his fingers, Craig lay his hands on the keys and cocked an eyebrow at Kyle expectantly.

"Just this," Kyle replied, leaning against Craig a little bit; disarming him completely. "Will you play for me? Better yet, can you teach me a song?"

"I, uh," Craig stammered, hardly able to collect his thoughts as Kyle's warmth and presence overtook him. Floundering for words, he could feel a flush rising from his neck toward his face. "I guess so." He cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "If you want."

"I'd love that," Kyle said, resting his hands on the keys, his fingers rigid against their glossy surfaces.

"Well, first of all," Craig said, gazing down at Kyle's posture. "You need to relax your hands a little bit, and curve your fingers. Here, like this." Feeling like he was about to come undone, Craig reached over and started bending and adjusting Kyle's hands, his skin so soft and perfect against his own. A flair of desire registered in his belly, but he tried to ignore it as he sank into the feeling of being near to Kyle again.

"There," he murmured, drawing away and admiring his handiwork. "Perfect. How do you feel?"

Kyle thought a moment, considering this question.

"Slightly uncomfortable, but I guess it's to be expected."

"Here, straighten up a little," Craig said, bringing his hand and resting it against the small of Kyle's back, his fingers lingering for a moment at the sensation of his fragility; delicate bones shifting together and settling. Almost sighing, he studied Kyle's posture and could feel the cracks in his heart weeping, practically screaming out.

"So, what are we going to play? What have you been working on?" Kyle asked, his voice animated and bubbly.

"Mariage d'amour, but that's a bit advanced for you," Craig replied, wishing he could rest his head against Kyle's pretty, fragrant hair and just fall asleep for awhile. "I know it's cliche, but why don't you try Fur Elise? It's pretty, and relatively simple. I have a beginner's version you could try."

"Whatever you say," Kyle said, grinning. "I trust your judgment, dude; after all, you're the expert here."

Craig scoffed, even though he was touched by Kyle's obvious admiration.

"I'm so far from being an expert it's hilarious, but thanks," he replied, gruffly. Digging into a stack of music books resting on top of the piano he pulled out an old, dusty one he hadn't used in years. "This is one of the first books my mom ever gave me," he explained, opening it. "She's the one who wanted me to start playing in the first place, because she always wanted to as a kid but couldn't afford to take lessons."

"You never told me that," Kyle commented. "So she's living vicariously through you, huh?

"I suppose she is, in a sense," Craig replied, wryly. "Who knew I'd actually start to enjoy it at one point? Although, I haven't really been playing as much as I should."

"Why not?" Kyle asked, a touch of concern in his voice.

Craig shrugged a little as he flipped through the pages. How the hell was he ever going to explain that his desire to play ebbed and flowed with his moods? And his moods were usually directly affected by a certain redheaded interloper that had broken into Craig's life ages ago; curling into his heart and taking up permanent residence there? How could he ever convey what was going on inside of him, the way he ached and died everyday as he watched Kyle being pulled in an opposite direction; choosing to suffer in silence because he was too afraid of the alternative?

"Oh, I've just been kind of tired," he said, finally landing on the page he needed and shifting the new music book onto the holder.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Kyle asked, his eyes studying the page.

"I haven't been avoiding anyone," Craig said, curtly. "You've been with Stan, so -"

He shut his mouth, knowing he was starting to walk into unsafe territory. Desperately, he tried to backtrack.

"Focus," he instructed, tapping the music. "Do you want to play or not?"

"Of course I do, but I want to know what you meant. Do you feel like I'm choosing Stan over you?" Kyle asked, pulling on Craig's shirt; commanding his attention.

Craig refused to look at him, opting instead to glance over Kyle's shoulder and out the window; admiring the way the clouds were beginning to eat away at the sun and turn the sky grey. Snow would be coming soon, he could smell it in the air; could feel it in the chill invading the room.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Craig said, refusing to have this conversation. "I just meant that you're spending a lot of time with him, which makes sense, right? You guys are together, so," he cut off, the words almost cutting his tongue to ribbons. He _hated_ them, absolutely loathed saying them.

"No," Kyle murmured. "I've been way too wrapped up in him, haven't I? I've turned into one of those people who let their relationships become their whole world. That is so fucking lame, huh?"

"Well, yeah," Craig conceded, and then he sighed. What were they even really saying right now? "Look, I know I've been distant and weird but I'm feeling better now, okay?"

"Are you sure?" Kyle asked, watching him with vague suspicion and that ever present, cloying concern; so endearing and relentlessly thoughtful.

Craig nodded slowly, and as he spoke he could feel himself practically chewing up and swallowing his own decimated heart.

"I'm absolutely fine, I promise. What about you? How are...things?" He faltered, not really wanting to know but needing to know all at the same time.

A little smile passed over Kyle's mouth as his eyes dissolved into a genuine picture of happiness; contentment flooding the green and warming the waters. A dusting of a pink flush rose in his cheeks and Craig could feel his heart's tissues and fibers sliding down his throat in bloody ribbons; every ache and agony converging on him in the face of Kyle's obvious felicity; raw and powerful like the sun.

"Everything's great," he said, that tender smile curving his lips. "I know it's sickening and annoying, but I didn't think I could feel this good, you know? I've wanted this for so long and I'm still having a hard time accepting that all of this is real."

 _You and me both,_ Craig thought, swallowing bits of heart and bitter pills in one nauseating gulp; his hands clenching into shaking fists.

"I'm happy for you," he breathed out, his words paper-thin and flimsy. Brushing a hand over his mouth, he looked at Kyle and could feel himself collapsing inside as his whole world burned to the ground. Sighing, he begged himself to stay strong because as much as he hated how things had turned out, he couldn't deny that seeing Kyle so overwhelmingly, completely happy, so full of joy that he practically glowed, made him light up a little inside too. Maybe he could find a way to keep going if he focused on Kyle's happiness instead of his own misery. If he could keep that in his mind maybe he could survive in some capacity; tattered and pulverized, of course, but continuing on and hoping for the best.

 _Maybe if I just wait long enough,_ he thought, _I can have my chance. Who knows? Maybe Kyle will wake up one day, and then..._

"So, are we going to play or what?" Kyle asked, his hands obediently perched on the keys and curved just so.

Craig shook his head a little, clearing it of pipe dreams and longings as he came back to himself.

"Yeah, right," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, did you want to stay for dinner? My mom's making pot roast and there's always way too much."

Kyle laughed a little.

"I'm way ahead of you, dude; I already asked her if I could stay when I first got here."

"Of course you did," Craig replied, rolling his eyes but reveling in his fondness for the boy at his side; his Kyle. "Okay, let's see here," he said, studying the music.

Time passed swiftly as Craig showed Kyle how to play the pretty tune, and it was almost like nothing had ever changed. As the afternoon waned and deepened into early evening, snow started drifting slowly behind the windowpanes, errant ice chips striking the glass and tinkling like phantom chimes. A feeling of supreme fulfillment washed through Craig and eased his heartache as he became lost in Kyle instead of just the music, and their shoulders brushed slightly as he instructed him; his amateur fingers awkward and stumbling on the keys.

"You're actually doing pretty well," Craig remarked as Kyle finished up, his faltering rendition resting in the chilled air and lingering for a moment. "I'm impressed."

"Sure you are," Kyle teased, elbowing him a little. "Will you play for me, now? What was it you said you were playing again? Mariage d' something?"

"Mariage d'amour," Craig said, quirking an eyebrow. "It's frustrating but I fell in love with it the first time I heard it."

Kyle laughed a little.

"What an odd thing to hear you say," he said. "I don't think I've ever heard you say something so...what's the word? Whimsical? Yeah, that's it."

"Gosh, it's almost like I have feelings or something," Craig said, pulling out the sheet music and propping it up. He wasn't about to tell Kyle that he often listened to this exact song as he worked on his photo albums, stacked and piled neatly in his closet upstairs. No, he never needed to know about that.

"Did you need me to move so you can have space to play?" Kyle asked, beginning to stand. "I don't want to get in your way."

"No, don't go," Craig said, reaching out and grabbing Kyle's arm before really thinking about it. "You're fine where you are." Blushing, he let go and draped his hands on the keys; mortification burning through him.

Kyle simply stayed put and moved a little closer, his body a tiny furnace and warming Craig from the inside out.

"Oh, hold on," he said, reaching into his pocket as his ringtone cut through the air. Pulling out his phone he glanced at it, Stan's name prominent on the display.

"Go ahead," Craig said, his voice rough. "I can wait."

Kyle lifted his hand to drag a finger across the screen but then he stopped, his face turning toward Craig's; a strange expression rearranging his features.

"On second thought," he commented. "Stan can wait. I want to hear you play." He set the phone on top of the piano and leaned close to Craig again. "I'm all ears," he said, softly.

"Are you sure?" Craig asked, his heart aching just a little less; raw hope seeping in and sweetening his blood.

Kyle nodded.

"Absolutely."

After a moment, even as his heart thudded and stuttered with Kyle's heat resting on his arm, Craig began to play and the music filled up the room and chased away the chill; the haunting song almost like a lullaby that fell in dulcet tones. The snow continued to fall steadily beyond the evening-darkened glass and the smells of apples and his mother's pot roast drifted on the air, filling him with a profound joy. If only it could always be like this.

If only.

* * *

 **Present Day**

Kyle came to and found himself drenched in warm, soothing water, bubbles lacing its surface and saturating the humid air with a spicy aroma. Groaning softly, he turned his head and rested his cheek against slick porcelain, his entire body a pitcher filled with agony; every inch of his skin crying out for respite and release. Through his dazed vision, hazy and cloudy, he could make out Craig as he hovered near the edge of the tub, his eyes wild with sadness and concern, his shaking hands running a washcloth over Kyle's wrecked flesh; the water falling in pink rivers and staining the rest a strawberry hue. Vaguely, the dark, chanting voices were singing on the edges of Kyle's tormented brain; otherworldly canticles worming through his mind and plaguing him relentlessly.

"C-Craig?" He choked out, his voice raw from tears and screaming; the voices singing in his head, and now he could recognize their truth.

 _Damien._ The voices multiplying and cutting his psyche to shreds were his, and all of a sudden Kyle could feel those terrible hands pushing his thighs apart, and -

"No!" Kyle shrieked, and he sat up frantically, his body screaming at him to be still but his instincts telling him to run and hide. "D-Damien! He's going to -"

"Shhh, calm down, Kyle! Calm down, it's okay!" Craig said, his voice cracking a little as he tried to sooth Kyle. His strong hands came to rest on Kyle's aching shoulders and he pressed him back softly, his burning back coming to rest against the tub again. "You need to be still for awhile," he murmured. "You're in pretty bad shape."

Kyle looked around with a wild animal fear coursing through his blood, his heart beating a violent staccato in his chest even as it continued to be wrenched apart. The agony was waking up inside of him now, and it mingled with the destruction of his flesh, leaving Kyle a quivering, decimated mess; a wreck of a human being that could barely function anymore.

"It started out so nicely," he said, his voice frail as spun glass as it seeped into the bathroom. Lifting an arm, Kyle appraised the jagged cuts crawling through his skin and continuing to weep slim lines of blood. "There were daffodils everywhere, and the sky was so blue."

"Kyle, you don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," Craig said in an anguished voice, his fingers drifting over Kyle's wounds and settling on the nape of his neck. A gentle squeeze was pressed into Kyle's flesh and he almost winced at the feeling of being touched; he was starting to think that he'd be okay with never being touched again.

"No, I need to," Kyle replied, almost sounding like he was under a spell; enchanted and scrambling through dark, unknown forests. "Please."

Craig stroked his wet skin and nodded his head, his eyes as lost as Kyle's voice.

"I'll listen to anything you have to say," he murmured. "If it'll help."

"I walked for miles through the daffodils," he continued, and he could almost see the fields stretching out before him as he spoke. "I almost thought they'd go on forever, but I heard piano music in the distance, and it sounded just like your playing." Kyle glanced at him and lifted his hand, his fingers settling on Craig's arm. "I followed the music and I ended up at your old house, just stuck in the middle of nowhere."

"My house?" Craig asked, eyebrows raised.

Kyle nodded, shifting his legs and creating little currents in the pink water. Groaning, he could feel a deep ache radiating through secret places; the sensation making him want to sob with shame. Beginning to tremble, he continued.

"I walked into your old house and everything was exactly the same as years ago, right down to the pictures, but when I found your piano you weren't there; it was just playing by itself."

"Was I there at all?"

"Yes," Kyle answered, his mind floating up the staircase and into Craig's childhood room. "You were in your room, and you were surrounded by photographs; hundreds of them. And they were all of -"

Kyle jerked his head toward Craig, deep unadulterated fear filtering into his blood and bones.

"They were all of me, Craig," he whispered.

Craig hung his head, his hand coming up to rub at his eyes. For a moment, it almost seemed like he couldn't bear to look at Kyle.

"You were cutting them apart," he said, fingers gripping Craig's arm tighter. "You were getting rid of Stan, and then Damien was there and he told me that I've been destroying you for years."

"Kyle, you can't listen to anything Damien says," Craig said, still unwilling to lift his head and look at Kyle directly.

"But it's the truth, isn't it?" Kyle asked, his hushed voice taking on strength; fingers digging deeper into Craig's skin. "Isn't it? Tell me the truth!"

Craig finally looked up and Kyle could see the truth plain in his eyes, and it was almost like every minute of every agonizing year was written in their grey depths; swirling and pulsing with secret agonies and festering desires. Sadness and regret lanced through Kyle as he studied Craig's eyes, and he could feel himself burning up inside, but now he almost felt like he deserved to. How could he have allowed another human being to suffer through so much torture for so long, and why couldn't he see it? Was he really that selfish?

"Kyle, don't do this, okay?" Craig asked, his voice pleading. "My misery and bullshit are of my own making. Damien was saying that shit to you because he wanted to make you suffer; none of this has ever been your fault."

"Yes, it has, because I was so focused on my own stupid shit and failed to notice what you were going through," Kyle whispered, tears collecting in his eyes and falling; leaving raw tracks down his bruise and cut-puffed cheeks. "God, if I'd only woken up and actually noticed what the fuck was going on!"

Kyle covered his face with his hands as he sobbed, the sensation of being torn in two slicing knife-like through his chest and making him gasp between tears. Shards of glass and licks of flame were consuming him from the inside out but now he welcomed the agony; he welcomed it all, craved it.

"I deserved everything Damien did to me," he whispered, thick tears falling into the bathwater.

"What are you talking about?" Craig asked, a thread of panic weaving through his question.

Kyle dropped his hands from his face and wrapped his arms around himself, allowing the hateful memories to sink in and fill him with their poison.

"Damien attacked me and I tried to escape," he said, faintly. "I looked for a weapon but all I found were these little red bottles -"

"Red bottles?" Craig asked, his face going white.

"Yes, in all the cabinets," Kyle replied, his mind's eye dazzled by their scarlet sparkle. "And then I managed to escape the house, but it was surrounded by roses."

Craig nodded his head, and Kyle could see tears rising in his eyes; melting the ice that was normally present in them.

"The thorns," he murmured, his finger coming to rest next to a red welt on Kyle's arm. "You tried to run."

"I had no choice. It was either Damien or the roses," Kyle shrugged. "I chose the roses, but he caught me anyway." Looking down at the swirling, gore-flecked water, he shuddered and a sob tore from his throat. "He pushed me down and he, he -"

"Please," Craig broke in, voice wrecked and hushed. "You don't have to tell me anymore."

But Kyle almost felt like he couldn't stop, and once again he was back among the red roses, the blue sky wide above him and slowly being eclipsed by Damien's darkness.

"It hurt so much," he whispered, studying the bruises circling his wrists; could practically see pale hands wrapped around them. "It felt like I was being doused in fire, like I'd never be clean again, but he wouldn't stop."

"Kyle -"

"And he said I was paying a debt. Your debt." Kyle looked at Craig and it was almost like he could see him shattering into a million pieces; his entire demeanor and presence breaking down into utter nothingness. Compassion welled inside of him and he laid a hand against Craig's cheek, ignoring the pain and fear clouding his mind; Damien's voice taunting him in the dark fields of his brain.

"Craig, do you have anything you need to tell me?" He asked, gently.

Craig clutched at his hand and squeezed it tightly, his body shaking as the tears started to finally fall.

"I just wanted a chance," he said, grey eyes searching Kyle's face and begging for understanding. "I've been waiting for so long." Shuddering, he dropped his gaze, almost like he couldn't bear to look in Kyle's eyes for a second longer. "I-I went to Damien and I asked for his help, and he gave me a potion."

"Let me guess, it was in a little red bottle," Kyle said, dully, having to force the words out as he tried to come to terms with what he was being told.

Craig nodded, the tears falling faster now.

"And everything we've been doing, has been because you gave me something," he went on, drawing his hand back and staring blankly at the bathwater. "You tricked me, Craig."

Vaguely, Kyle could feel Craig's fingers threading through his hair, his touch soft as he forced him to turn to look at him.

"I love you," he said. "I've always loved you, and I always will. I could just never get you to look at me, Kyle."

"So, you took the choice away from me," Kyle whispered, a new pain rising inside of his heart and burning away everything he thought he knew. Suddenly, he was set adrift in a different kind of void, wandering lost in a sea of strangers and lies. Who could even say what the truth was anymore?

Trembling, a tiny current of rage started breathing life into itself as angry tears took the place of sad ones.

"How could you?" He asked, an edge registering in his voice that he very rarely directed at Craig. "Why didn't you just fucking talk to me, Craig? Why did you have to do this?"

"Stan," Craig replied, and Kyle was taken aback at the cold, raw fury present in just a simple name. "It's always been him. As long as he's been around, I've never had a chance."

"Because I love him!" Kyle yelled, turning and sitting up; his famished body screaming with every movement. "You know that!"

"Yes, I fucking know that, Kyle!" Craig yelled back, his voice louder and filling the room; resounding off the tiles and cutting through Kyle's head. Reaching out, he took a hold of Kyle's shoulders and shook him, hands trembling as his fingers pressed into aching cuts. "I've known it for years, and no matter what, you could never fucking see reason! He isn't good enough for you, he treats you like an afterthought!" He continued to shake Kyle until he thought he was going to pass out; tiny whimpers pressing through his lips. "I've always been the best thing for you! Christ, I could fucking see that since we were kids! Why can't you?!"

"Look at me!" Kyle sobbed, his head hanging as he felt on the verge of passing into an abyss; darkness splashing in on the sides of his vision. "Do you really think you're doing what's best for me?! You're doing what's best for you!"

Craig stopped shaking him then and crushed Kyle to his chest, his voice coming in sobbing gasps as he hugged him close.

"I didn't want this to happen," he said. "I never wanted you to get hurt, Kyle; I just wanted you to see the truth! The real truth! I've watched for years as Stan ignored your feelings, or didn't have time for you, or wouldn't listen to you; not like I would. When you speak, I actually hear what you're saying, and I'd do anything, anything to make sure you're happy and taken care of!"

"Craig," Kyle said, body trembling as he allowed himself to be held close. "Can't you see that all of this has changed you? You don't sound like the person I used to know, and I think Damien's spell didn't just affect me; I think it's warping you too. Can't you see that?"

"No, these are the things I've always thought and felt, I've just never had a chance to say them out loud," Craig argued, managing to hug Kyle even tighter until he squeaked. "I'm not giving you up now, Kyle. I've come too far; you're mine."

Kyle just sobbed when he heard these words, his head resting against Craig's shoulder as he felt the flames being fanned and eating up his own thoughts; devastating his voice of reason, his true thoughts, his body drenching itself in agony and fire as he became lost in Craig's obsession and desire. Crushing Craig's t-shirt between his hands, he tried to stay present long enough to attempt to fight, Damien's voice laughing at him as he tried to rise again; his wings clipped and set ablaze.

"Stan," he whispered. "Please, I need to see him again. I know I can't win, but at least -"

"No," Craig cut him off. "I'll take care of him, Kyle. Those days are over; accept it."

Kyle fell silent as he lapsed back into the lingering haze that always seemed to be present within him these days. Now he realized that it was a dark force stealing through him and silencing his actual self, cutting down who he used to be whenever he tried to fight.

 _So, this is what it feels like to be reborn,_ he thought, wincing as the flames engulfed him and started to close over his head. Before he succumbed completely, he managed to draw up words from the recesses of his own pool of truth.

"I wouldn't have turned my back on you if you'd told me the truth, Craig," he whispered, his senses shutting down as he fell from his pedestal and into Hell. "I would've always been your friend, no matter what. You didn't have to do this."

And then, in a flash, he was gone; the dying phoenix sinking into the ashes and falling asleep; waiting to rise again in bright snatches of flame.

How could something so beautiful, so pure, so perfectly right be so twisted up with pleasure and agony? Flashes of fire consumed Craig even as a sweet, tranquil ecstasy washed through him, almost like glacial lake waters drenching the rage and pain and making them bearable.

With soft, slow rolls of his hips, Craig slid into Kyle's ethereal heat and he gasped aloud, the fury and rapture intertwining and moving like threads of heroin in his bloodstream. He hadn't had any intention of taking Kyle again so soon after his defilement at the hands of Damien, but there was something working inside of him that didn't really give him a choice. His love was burning with so much fervor that to deny himself what he craved was akin to committing suicide; he'd be slicing through his own wrists and destroying his own heart. Craig needed to be close to him, hold him, and wash away the agony that Damien had created; clearly, Kyle needed to be renewed.

Kyle hadn't fought as Craig helped him from the bath and dried him off, his hands straying over his skin and coming to settle on Kyle's cheeks; cupping his face so he could kiss his lips. Kyle's eyes had been lit candles burning under the dim bathroom lights, scarlet waves crashing over green islands. Tenderly, he'd tended to his battle-worn Kyle and soothed his wounds, warm waters effectively washing away gore and leaving rows of puffy pink wounds; deep gouges cut into once unbroken flesh. Craig had winced to see such carnage, but when he'd laid Kyle in bed and kissed his tears away, Craig knew he was putting him back together.

Craig was soft as he made love to Kyle this time, laying kisses on his neck and clavicle, his tongue drifting over the fragrant skin of his shoulders; his lips lingering in the velvety curve of his neck. He wound his fingers through scarlet strands and got lost in their essence, apples and spice invading his senses and filling him up; pushing back the darkness and the hard words that had been spoken between them in the bathroom. Kyle knew the truth now, and he was still fighting, but soon all would be put to rights; blood spilled and littering the floor as Craig stood in the wreckage with his beloved in his arms.

Clenching his hands on Kyle's hips, Craig lifted him a little as he continued to delve inside; his body being awarded with the sensation of sinking into a rare and exquisite oil. Kyle's breathy pants and cries were warm against his ear as over and over he claimed him, their bodies melding and meeting in heaven; every movement written in profound detail in the stars. This had always been meant to be, this deep and pervading love forged in childhood and carried over into the trials of adulthood. Craig had fought and bled for this, he had suffered, and now he was just taking what had always been meant for him; his mind closing itself to the casualties and suffering borne from his desires.

 _I'll claim him once and for all once Stan has been cut down,_ he thought, his mind and body awash with the sensation of dangling on the edge. _And then Damien will have his pound of flesh, and then we can just be like this; always like this._

He tried to keep the rage out of his mind as he focused in on Damien's grievous trespasses, the utter foulness of his actions; hoping that his fury didn't register in how he handled Kyle's body. Damien had put his hands on something that was pure and clean and tried to sully it, turn it into something dirty, but Craig knew better. Kyle would always sit on the pedestal he'd constructed over the years, far above regular society; held aloft from the licentious crowd, his feet never touching the ground and rendered unclean. Craig would keep him safe from everything forever now. In his heart, he'd always known that that had to be his destiny; constructing a cage that would keep the world out and his Kyle inside. The world had never been good enough for Kyle, and Craig had every intention of keeping him protected, sheltered; cradled in loving arms that pushed back the darkness.

Craig was quickly reaching his end as he sped up his thrusts, Kyle's tiny gasps breaking over his skin as his fingers clung to Craig's shoulders. It was in this touch alone that Craig knew Kyle felt the truth in his blood, in his body, even if it hadn't registered in his brain yet. Kyle's body craved Craig's, it was written in every movement and word, the way he clenched around Craig and pulled him in; the way he threw his head back on the pillow and cried out for more. The whole affair was too beautiful, Kyle's body bathed in moonlight, his eyes filled with fire as they watched the ceiling; every movement rocking him up against the headboard. Finally, Craig couldn't handle the beauty another moment, Kyle's intoxicating divinity, and he was practically crying as he poured all of himself into the body he so adored; borne aloft on a sea of stars and all-consuming devotion.

"You're mine," he whispered, coming down to earth and resting in Kyle's fragrance; ragged breaths torn from his chest as his mind cleared. "Say it, Kyle."

Soft pants and then a tiny voice breaking into the stillness:

"I'm yours, Craig."

"And you love me?" Craig asked, cradling Kyle in his arms and kissing his forehead.

"I love you," Kyle whispered, nuzzling into Craig and settling his head on his chest.

"Perfect," Craig whispered, his finger winding through a luscious red curl.

A pounding in the living room cracked through the quiet of the apartment and Craig sat up, immediate irritation rushing into his brain and setting his nerves on edge. Kyle sat up as well and clutched the blankets to his chest, bloodied eyes wide and resting on Craig, begging him for an explanation.

"Stay still," Craig ordered him. Standing, he hurriedly wiped himself off and pulled on a pair of jeans. "I'll be right back."

Kyle just nodded his head as Craig left the room, the blankets still pulled up to his neck. As Craig made his way into the living room, the pounding at the door became louder and louder, and then he could hear angry shouts cutting through the wood and straight into his ears.

"You better open this fucking door, Tucker! I swear to God if you don't, I'm just going to break this shit down!"

Rage and anticipation filtered into Craig's blood as the owner of the voice became clear. Stan. So, this was it, wasn't it? Clenching his fist, Craig stalked over to the door and threw it open, completely ready to confront the tide of anger that swept over him as Stan and Kenny barged in, practically gnashing their teeth with open fury. Stan came right up to Craig and pushed him hard, his entire body shaking with unconcealed wrath.

"You sick son of a bitch!" He yelled, pushing Craig again until his back was up against the wall. "How the fuck could you do that to him? Huh?! Kyle cared about you, he thought you guys were fucking best friends, and then you did this to him?! Drugged him? RAPED him?! I'll fucking kill you!"

Nonplussed, Craig turned to Kenny and raised an eyebrow. Kenny came up behind Stan and pulled him back, his light blue eyes snapping with their own pique.

"We found the bottle in your nightstand, and Damien's business card, you freak," he explained, restraining an outraged Stan. "We know everything. Damien told us."

"Not to mention your fucking photo collection, you fucking psycho!" Stan bit out. "I can't believe you've been doing this sick shit for years! What the fuck did Kyle ever do to you, huh?!"

A stirring of true, unbridled rage came to the surface now, breaking through Craig's impassive facade.

"My photos?" He asked, coming forward, fists clenched. "You didn't fuck with them, did you?"

"Dude, are you fucking for real? We just told you we know everything and that's what you're worried about? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you just completely out of your mind?!" Stan screamed.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Craig spat, cracking his knuckles; his entire body aching to just unload years' worth of irritation and abject hatred on Stan's face. "I already told you you don't deserve Kyle and I stand by that."

"But why does he have to suffer because of it?" Stan asked, his voice cracking. "You basically opened him up to being attacked by Damien, and you took advantage of him to the point where he can't even fight back! Why would you do that to him? He's always cared about you! He's always been on your side!"

A sob tore through Stan's throat as he wiped a hand across his eyes.

"He picked you up after Tweek died, Craig. I saw it, everybody saw it. And this is how you repay him?"

Kenny's face was somber as he regarded Craig, his light blue eyes registering deep pity and contempt.

"You seriously fucked up, Tucker," he said, his hands still resting on Stan's shoulders. "You have to know that."

"Once again, I don't owe either of you assholes an explanation, but since you barged into MY fucking apartment late at night, unannounced, fine," Craig said, his voice sinking back into its bored monotony. "Yeah, I made a deal with Damien, because Kyle has always been mine, and now he finally is. Your time with him is done," he said, looking directly at Stan, grey eyes narrowed. "I can love him in a way you were NEVER capable of."

"You call this love?!" Stan yelled. "Tricking and deceiving him?! You can't be serious!"

"Oh, I'm very serious, Stan, and what's more," Craig said, walking over to the kitchen and opening a drawer. Rooting around, he plucked out the largest knife they had, a curved and very sharp butcher knife; its edge wicked as the lamplight struck it. "It's finally time for me to take care of you."

Stan and Kenny's eyes widened as Craig carried the knife back into the living room, the weapon held loosely in his hand as he drew forward. Craig was coiled and tight on the inside but he never allowed his racing heartbeat and emotions to register on his face; this was business, plain and simple. The chickens were fucking coming home to roost, and Stan was going to be left a bleeding mess on their living room carpet; eyes open and rendered sightless for eternity. Craig could feel moisture collecting in his mouth as he gripped the knife, already wildly anticipating bringing it down and through Stan's no doubt frantically beating heart.

"Back the fuck up," Stan seethed, drawing a gun out of his pocket and pointing it straight at Craig. "Figures you would fucking bring a knife to a gunfight, you disgusting prick."

Craig cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Kenny again, a bored expression passing over his features.

"Let me guess, it's one of yours," he commented.

"Damn straight," Kenny barked. "I'm on his side, Tucker."

"You'd really trust a fucking treehugger like Stan with a gun? Yeah, that's really smart," Craig said, rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Now you're starting to sound like Cartman, you asshole," Kenny spat.

"Well, he always kind of had a point about that, didn't he?" Craig asked, leaning against the wall. He wasn't really feeling any actual fear. After all, Stan was one of the most sensitive people he'd ever met; sure, he could stand there and brandish his little toy but would he actually use it? He sincerely fucking doubted that.

"Craig?"

A small voice carried through the apartment and caused a pang to finally register in Craig's heart. Turning, he saw Kyle coming out of the bedroom and drifting up the hall, a bed sheet wrapped around his shoulders and trailing along the floor as he walked. His eyes were still deluged in crimson, but there was fear resting in his features.

"Craig, what's going on?" He asked, coming into the room. When Kyle's eyes fell on Stan and Kenny, he turned to Craig, his face dazed and confused; that slight sorrow breaking through his irises and making Craig grit his teeth.

"Kyle! Get away from him!" Stan yelled, still holding the gun aloft and pointed at Craig, though Craig could see that his hands were shaking.

Smirking, Craig reached out and pulled Kyle to his side, his body trembling under the sheet as he curled against him.

"Kyle isn't going anywhere, Stan. Accept it," he taunted, his lips coming to rest in Kyle's wild curls.

There were tears in Stan's voice as he called out to Kyle in desperation.

"Kyle, wake up! He tricked you! He poisoned you! You need to fucking listen to me!"

"Oh, he already knows," Craig said, pulling Kyle even closer, his hand coming up to cup his chin. "Do you want to know what we did after he found out? Hmm?"

"That's enough, you deranged motherfucker!" Kenny yelled, coming out from behind Stan. "Haven't you fucking done enough, Tucker?!"

"Tell them, baby," Craig murmured close to Kyle's ear. "Tell them everything. It would make me happy."

Frantically, Kyle looked between Stan and Craig, his eyes bright and bordering on being unfocused. A whimper broke through his lips when Craig coaxed him, his lips lingering on Kyle's jaw and kissing softly.

"Tell them," he whispered again.

"W-we had..." Kyle started to say, but broke off, shaking his head.

"Just stop, Craig! Don't make him do this!" Stan yelled, and now his arms were shaking as he held the gun; cobalt eyes devastated and pleading.

Craig smirked. What a fucking weakling; too afraid to even shoot a gun. Stan's actions were just reinforcing his contempt.

"Too afraid to hear the truth, huh?" He asked. "You don't want to know what we've done together? How many times I've had him? What kind of man are you? You can't fucking face the reality of a situation? Is that it?"

Suddenly, Kyle broke away, his body shaking as he stood between Stan and Craig, his hands clutching at his head as he began to sob. Falling to his knees, he cried like a wounded animal, the sounds of unimaginable sorrow tearing through the room and wrapping around its occupants. No one could think of what to say and for a moment it felt like Kyle's agony was the only sound in the world, until Craig cleared his throat and started to kneel beside him; his emotions finally catching up with him and making his hold on the knife shaky.

"Ky-" he started to say, but then a swirling cloud of black vapor opened up and pushed him back.

All at once, Damien was there and kneeling behind Kyle, his elegant, clawed hands coming to rest on his shaking shoulders.

"There, there, little cherub," he cooed, holding him close even as Kyle desperately tried to scramble away. "Are these idiots scaring you? Poor, sweet baby."

Looking up, Damien regarded Craig, Stan, and Kenny with thinly-veiled irritation, one dark eyebrow raised.

"I sincerely hope you morons are done playing with your little toys," he commented. "Because this bullshit," he said, gesturing between them, "is unbearably pathetic. I hope you realize that."

"Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch," Stan snapped. "Isn't this what you wanted us to do?! Fight to the fucking death or some shit?"

Damien wrapped his arms around Kyle and drew him upward, Kyle still struggling as he was held fast against the demon; eyes blazing crimson even as his fright threatened to undo him. He yelped as their feet left the floor, and Damien was holding him suspended in the air, a black and red vortex beginning to swirl softly at their backs.

"Of course that's what I want," he replied, exasperation dripping from his musical voice. "But where's the fun in this? Huh?" Snapping his fingers, the vortex opened up completely and he stepped backward into it, dragging Kyle along for the ride, still fighting tirelessly to get away.

"Wait! Where the fuck are you taking him, Damien?!" Craig yelled, starting forward.

"H-help me!" Kyle finally managed to yell, reaching out a hand to Craig; nearly becoming unglued from terror. "Don't let him take me again! Please!"

"Mm, but we always have so much fun together, don't you think? Little cherub," Damien purred, dragging his tongue along Kyle's cheek.

"Get your fucking hands off of him!" Stan roared, running forward too.

"If you want him, come and get him," Damien sang out, the vortex starting to swallow them up. Reaching up, he grabbed a handful of Kyle's hair and yanked his head back. "Sing for them, cherub," he commanded, and then he was brutally pulling Kyle's hair as hard as he could, making Kyle scream out in pain.

"Wait!" Craig yelled, but it was too late, and in less than a moment Damien and Kyle were gone; the last sound that could be heard were Kyle's screams as the portal closed and shimmered away.

* * *

"They'll be here shortly, cherub. I can smell them," Damien murmured, pressing his lips against Kyle's cheek and enjoying the way he struggled so; dear, little angel, so frail and practically shaking. How wonderfully delicious. "Even they aren't too stupid to figure out where I took you."

Languidly, Damien dragged a claw down Kyle's face and almost began to salivate when a shiver quickened the boy's flesh. He was just so delectable and vulnerable, he could hardly stand it.

"You know, you would be a wonderful addition to my collection," he mused, admiring the way Kyle's torn body looked adorned in chains as he scampered away across the room; the metal dragging on the glass floor as his hands and knees slapped down. "I'm almost hoping those two pieces of driftwood end up killing one another, then you'd be free for the plucking, wouldn't you?"

Walking over, Damien leaned down and took a hold of Kyle's chin, gently tilting his face up so he could study its beauty. Frantically, Kyle tried to pull away but that only served to tighten Damien's grip; his nails digging into soft, yielding flesh.

"Although, I've taken quite a few bites out of you already, haven't I?" He asked, snickering a little. "But I get the impression that you're just the gift that keeps on giving. What do you think?"

"Why-why are you doing this?" Kyle asked, fatigue dragging his voice down until it was nearly beneath Damien's feet. "Haven't you already taken enough from me? There's nothing left."

"There's always something else to take from someone," Damien said, nodding. "You'd do well to learn that, cherub. People are bottomless wells, if you reach down deep enough, you'll always find something else they can give." Kneeling down, he stroked a hand through Kyle's sweat-drenched curls. "Just look at Tucker, he's actively feeding on everything you have. How does it feel?"

"He's only doing it because you helped him, you piece of shit," Kyle snapped, and the demon laughed to see the little cherub finally showing some backbone.

"I've got news for you, little one; Tucker would've found a way to have you even without my assistance," Damien replied, picking up the chain wrapped around Kyle's throat. Standing, he started dragging Kyle back toward the ornate throne sitting in the middle of the giant darkened chamber; the walls and ceiling stretching on forever into echoing black abysses. His hard soled shoes tapped delicately against the expansive clear glass floor, and even from this great distance, he could feel the flames roaring and licking away miles below them.

Sitting down, he pulled Kyle until he was seated at his feet, even though he was still actively fighting against his restraints; the jerking of his body reopening his wounds causing blood to spill down in a multitude of rivers.

"Mm, you're so pretty like that," Damien murmured. "No wonder Tucker can't get over you." Crossing his legs, he yanked Kyle closer. "Lay your head against my leg. Now," he instructed, his voice sharp.

"Never," Kyle seethed, pulling back.

"Come now, it doesn't do you any good to be obstinate at this stage in the game," Damien said, coiling the chain around his hand and pulling it sharply. Kyle yelped and fell forward, his head coming to rest against Damien's leg, where his fingers quickly wove through his hair. "There, isn't that better?"

"I hate you," Kyle spat, baring his teeth, his eyes glowing as wickedly as the fires pulsing below them.

"Mm, but I adore you, cherub," Damien purred, twirling a curl around his finger and pulling it roughly, making Kyle yelp. "If you were mine, I'd wake you up every morning with bouquets of roses."

Kyle blanched at his choice of words and Damien laughed, his voice carrying far and away into the distant recesses of the gigantic room.

"Craig wasn't always like this," Kyle whispered, looking down at the floor as tears collected in his eyes. "You warped him. I know you did."

"I beg to differ," Damien replied, tapping a claw against the gold inlay of his throne. "I've seen into that sick fuck's mind and you're written on every surface. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, plain as day. You're his reason for being, cherub; his fire, his one and only. _That's_ what warped him; not me. Really, you should be blaming yourself for all of this."

"But I didn't do anything," Kyle said, the tears falling now and sizzling on the floor.

"That's just the problem. You did nothing, and now you're paying for it," Damien said, starting to sound bored.

Kyle clutched at his face as he truly began to sob, the sounds of his misery a discordant symphony to Damien's ears as he watched his naked body wrack with spasms.

"I can see into your mind too, little one," he murmured, stroking his cheek. "Do you want to know what's on every surface of _your_ thoughts? The name written in blood that can never be erased?"

"Stay out of my fucking mind," Kyle said, his teeth clenching as his breath hitched. "You've already polluted my body; stay the fuck out of my thoughts."

"Stan, Stan, Stan, Stan," Damien taunted him, his claw tapping with every mention of Stan's name. "Everywhere, absolutely everywhere," he said, flicking Kyle's forehead and tsking. "How frightfully boring. He isn't even interesting."

"Fuck you," Kyle said, wrapping his arms around himself.

"That's what makes all of this so entertaining," Damien remarked, chewing on a claw. "Stan's name is written in your brain and your heart, but Tucker is in your blood, and so am I, of course," he snickered. "I absolutely adore burning you from the inside out. In more ways than one, might I add."

"You just love to hear yourself talk, don't you?" Kyle sighed, sagging under his chains; his head still resting against Damien's leg.

"Oh? I'm sorry, I thought you might be interested in hearing about your soul basically being shredded in half. In fact," Damien said, sniffing a little. "You're right on the precipice, cherub; you really don't have a lot of time left before..."

"Before what?" Kyle asked, his voice frantic.

Damien smirked. Now he had the little redhead's attention, huh? Time to turn the screws just a little.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was boring you with my insipid thoughts. I won't bother you anymore; don't mind me."

"No! Tell me! Please!" Kyle said, rising up on his knees and looking at Damien with beseeching eyes, the effect so potent it bordered on being intoxicating. He shuddered a little.

"Come and sit on my lap, child, and maybe, just maybe, I'll continue to bore you," Damien said, softly; patting his leg a little.

Damien watched with savage pleasure as Kyle considered his request, his entire being registering fear and disgust as he studied Damien's smirking face. Finally, he stood, his chains beautifully draped across his pale, ravaged body, overrun with gore and violence, and delicately sat on Damien's lap; his waifish form almost light as a breath of air.

"Gorgeous," Damien murmured, dropping a kiss on the nape of Kyle's neck; relishing his shudder of fear and protest, fairly sinking into the fear radiating off of him. "You'll make a beautiful puppet," he said, his hand straying to Kyle's throat and resting there, pressing lightly; enough to send a warning.

"What are you talking about?" Kyle breathed, his trembling, pink lips barely parting as he spoke.

"Your soul is hanging on by a thread," Damien said, arousal pulsing in his acidic veins. "Once it tears completely, you'll be nothing but a puppet, and then you really will be mine because neither of them will be able to claim you; you'll just be wandering in an endless, mindless limbo."

"No," Kyle whispered. "Stan and Craig would never let that happen; they'd save me first."

"Oh, the irony," Damien said, laughing softly against the back of Kyle's neck. "You want to be saved by Tucker of all people. Can't you see how sick that is? And Stan? God, what a perfect example of a weakling. I'd start praying now, cherub; because you're going to need it."

"If I could, I'd fucking kill you, I hope you know that," Kyle said, teardrops continuing to fall even as his voice became savage. "I'd give anything to twist your fucking neck in my hands until it snapped."

Damien merely sighed and pulled Kyle closer, his arousal only growing at the sound of such angry words. Tightening his hold on Kyle's throat, he kissed his shoulder lightly.

"I find it endlessly amusing that you'd love to kill me, but you don't seem to have the same animosity for Tucker. After all, he's the one that put you in this situation."

"I'm angry with Craig, too," Kyle countered, teeth gritted. "Very angry, but he's still my friend, and I care about him. I always will."

"Right, because mind manipulation and rape are the basis for a healthy friendship," Damien replied, thoroughly enjoying twisting the knife into Kyle's already bloodied side. "Your endless supply of compassion is staggering, cherub; never, ever change."

"At least Craig's insanity stems from love," Kyle whispered, his words starting to break down as his mind went to dark places; facing the atrocities visited against him by someone he'd once trusted completely. "Your cruelty is just for the sake of entertainment and manipulation."

"Mm, it's almost like I'm the son of Satan or something," Damien purred, his breath ghosting over Kyle's heated neck; his pulse thudding rapidly and getting faster with every wonderful moment. Suddenly, he tensed and cocked an ear to listen; pushing past the crackle of flames and Kyle's beating heart.

"My, my, so the little princes have finally arrived to save their damsel in distress," he purred, yanking on Kyle's chains a little. "Are you ready, cherub? You have front row seats and everything."

"I don't want them to fight," Kyle whimpered.

"Yes, but you need them to, don't you?" Damien replied, his eyes gleaming like blood-dappled diamonds as a door opened across the vast expanse of the room; glimmering a pearly hue as light poured into the black chamber. Frantic footfalls thudded against the floor as the door closed and blackness restored itself. Sniffing the air again, Damien could've orgasmed at the anger and fear leaking into the air; not just from the cherub but from Craig and Stan, who were drawing nearer as every second died away.

"Welcome to the party," Damien said, his mouth aching from smiling so widely to see so much agony leaking across his guests' faces; their eyes resting on Kyle as he remained nestled in the demon's lap. "I trust you found the place alright?"

"Why the fuck did you have to drag us out here?" Craig snapped, breathing a little heavily from running.

"Dramatic effect," Damien shrugged. "Besides, I'm heavily invested in the outcome of all this. I think I've earned the right to set the stage, don't you?"

"Kyle, are you okay?" Stan asked, his voice faltering as he studied the redhead. Flicking his eyes to Damien, he scowled. "If you fucking did anything to him, I swear to Christ, I'll -"

"Oh, cut the crap, lover boy," Damien sighed, cutting him off with a wave of his claws. "I didn't do anything to your little trinket. Although, I did give him a little makeover. What do you think?" He asked, pulling on the chain looping around Kyle's neck again. "See? I'm keeping him very well contained, too." Laughing, he pointed to the base of his throne, where the chains wound round and round.

"Kyle, I promise I'll get you out of here, okay?" Craig said, his eyes lingering on Kyle as his fists clenched.

"You're fucking unbelievable, Tucker," Stan spat. "The only reason he's here is because of you, you sick fuck. I'll save Kyle because I'll be getting rid of your crazy ass."

"Why? So he can go back to being treated like an afterthought by you? You've never cared about him the way he deserves, you -"

"But you think manipulating and fucking warping his brain are totally okay? You fucking -"

"Boys, boys! We all get it, okay? You both want the prize and your reasons are the right ones, blah blah blah," Damien interjected. "Enough of your petty arguing, let's get to the good stuff, shall we? Cherub?"

Kyle turned his head, his eyes pulsing like bloody heartbeats as he visibly trembled; his entire being overcome and rife with terror and all-encompassing fatigue. Damien could vividly imagine bending him over his throne and taking him right there and then; he'd actually responded to his little nickname! God, it was just _delicious._

"I'd like you to do the honors," Damien murmured, his hand drifting down and squeezing one lacerated thigh; drawing a moan from Kyle's lips. "Can you do that for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Stand, please," Damien instructed, placing one little kiss on Kyle's neck.

Reluctantly, Kyle slid from Damien's lap and stood before him in all of his cherubic glory; pale skin illuminated by the raging fires below and catching in his eyes, chains falling down his body in metallic streams. Shivering, he waited, which made Damien shiver, too; albeit for a much different reason.

"Pass these out to our gallant heroes," Damien said, waving his hand and conjuring up a burst of flame that rivaled Kyle's burning irises. When the fire dissipated, two curved, silver daggers hung in the air; glittering and practically throbbing with the need for bloodshed. Kyle recoiled at the sight of them.

"No, I-I can't, I won't," he breathed, eyes resting on the razor sharp weapons; their edges honed paper-thin.

"Oh, but you will," Damien assured him, coiling his chain and giving a smart tug that made Kyle cry out. "Now. Don't make me ask you again; you won't like the outcome."

"Just do it, Kyle," Craig said, his voice hard but kind. "It's okay, baby."

"Don't fucking call him that," Stan bit out between clenched teeth. After a moment, he called to Kyle, too; his voice softening almost to a whisper. "Kyle, just listen to Damien, okay? I don't want him to have a reason to hurt you again."

"I don't need a reason," Damien interjected, rolling his eyes. Sighing, he rested them on his conflicted angel again, one eyebrow raising. "Go ahead, little one. Everyone's waiting on you now."

Breath hitching, and with tremors coursing through his flesh, Kyle slowly reached out and grasped the weapons, his eyes shutting at the touch of such cruel, hateful instruments sliding against his skin; an effect which only fed Damien's growing desires. Tugging on them, he brought them closer to his chest, taking care to angle their sharpness away from him. Giving Damien one last pleading look, he dropped his eyes to the floor and turned, his chains dragging and scraping on the floor. Damien couldn't help but admire Kyle's torn up back as he walked away, at the way his claw marks raked through his skin, how the roses had gouged into him as he'd taken him in a field studded with thorns. His eyes lingered over Kyle's sharp shoulder blades and he smirked, knowing that's where his wings would be if he still had them, but they'd been torn, rendering him flightless and earth-bound.

 _Oh, how the mighty do fall,_ Damien mused, his entire body curling up with pleasure as Kyle passed out the weapons. Craig and Stan were watching the little cherub with eyes of love and adoration and sorrow as they each took their dagger, knuckles white as they clenched them in shaking fists. Damien allowed Kyle to linger for a moment between them before ruthlessly yanking on his chain, directing him back and onto his waiting lap. Snaking an arm around the trembling boy, he regarded the pawns tensed and waiting before him, nerves on edge as they anticipated Damien's command.

"Well, it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" Damien mused, his words drenching the air with their Merlot quality; cruelty and beauty wrapping around his tone as the tension in the room mounted. Winding his claws through pretty red curls, he pulled Kyle's head onto his shoulder and lapped at his cheek; relishing in his fear and fury.

"Let's begin, shall we?"


End file.
